


Between Two Minds

by silver9mm



Series: Built Another World [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bondage, Cock Cages, Dark, Dirty Talk, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drug Use, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Fisting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Mpreg, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 78,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver9mm/pseuds/silver9mm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The grief lasted a long time. Would last a lifetime, Sam thought, but the physical symptoms tapered off eventually. Dean’s breathing steadied, his gasping became infrequent and finally quieted, he sniffed a few times and then went still. Skin on skin, they were sweating, but Dean hadn’t let go of Sam’s hand, and as tired as Sam had been earlier, he was wide awake now.</p><p>Dean’s voice surprised him.</p><p>“Sam?” The word was small and forced out, pained.</p><p>“Yeah,” he answered, lips brushing against the knot of Dean’s spine.</p><p>Dean shifted slightly, pushing back into Sam’s hips, deliberate and slow, and circled his ass against his little brother’s hard cock. There was no way it was an accident. His head tilted and Sam could see his eyes were open, bruised, irises glinting, sparking-flint as they captured the dim light.</p><p>“Want me?”</p><p>“Yes. Fuck. Always.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [ Becoming Less Defined](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2141112), but I hope that it can, for the most part, stand on its own.  
> AU for the very end of S6  
> Title from the song [Bloodstream ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3b1CDLsiGU) by Stateless  
> [Soundtrack on 8tracks!](http://8tracks.com/silver9mm/between-two-minds)  
> [On Youtube!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zdoXgGnKdc&list=PLuB2rGbcqG9mDN1j6Nx4i0dSQr-rCawkz)

Footsteps sounded in another part of the empty house, but Sam didn’t follow the noise. Instead, he pictured Dean moving around the little run-down place Sam had spotted the day before. Hands stuffed in his pockets, a frown on his face, pretending to be disgusted by the cobwebs and months of dust and the faint rat-trap and mothball smell a place abandoned tended to acquire, Dean would come find him and complain: _This place needs too much work. It could use a new roof. What do we need three bedrooms for?_ But under all that pessimism and obstinance, Dean would be pleased. He’d be stoked to have a home that stayed in one place, even if they weren’t here all that often. He’d want to buy chairs and a couch, beds— _One in every room,_ Sam would insist, backing Dean up against a peeled-paint wall, his older brother’s hips in his hands. Resisting half-heartedly, head down, bashful, Dean would echo him: _In every room?_ and stutter a laugh into Sam’s mouth.

Dean’s hands slid around his waist, one moving up, pressing hard, thumbing low across his sternum, a spot Sam’d not known was sensitive before the person behind him had discovered the way it made him straighten his spine and inhale sharply. The other hand skimmed belt and buttons, coming to rest over his thickened cock. A chin touched Sam’s shoulder and he felt the chest against his back expand as he was breathed in.

“Where’d you go, psycho-boy?” came Dean’s voice.

Sam laughed. “I never should’ve shown you that movie.”

“I’ve been talking to you, you know.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. This for me?” The hand on his cock tightened, and Sam spread his legs, giving access.

“Of course.”

Another deep inhalation, and Sam knew he was caught, that the scent he was giving off had tipped his hand, exposed his thoughts. But he knew it didn’t matter.

“Do you like it?” Sam asked.

“It’s perfect,” was the reply and his cock was squeezed.

“Not that. The house.”

The body behind him shifted and in a moment his arms were full, and soft lips smiled up at him, a freckled nose crinkled with the expression, but he looked into eyes the colour of dark chocolate, irises not green, not even human, completely. The brown rings around black pupils danced with colour, a variation of _tapetum lucidum_ , Sam figured, having researched it. Zinc was probably the culprit, the mineral useful for catching light and enhancing night vision, and deposits of it were salted all around both irises. Iridescence flickered and flared with every movement of the eyes, every shift of the light, and Sam often found himself staring at the spectacle for long, long moments, awed. Why it was there was a strange story having to do with angelic lust and genetic manipulation in a different dimension, on a different earth, not so dissimilar from the one Sam was born on that the creature in his arms couldn’t thrive here.

And Jensen was thriving.

In the three months since Sam had found Jensen hiding under the stairs in Bobby’s basement, a victim of another world’s Alastair’s obsession, Jensen had gone from a timid, confused, codependent man-child prone to long bouts of mental inertia and hallucinations, to a calm, mostly stable being. And a brave one, Sam thought. Jensen had faced waking up in a new world full of demons and ghosts and monsters, being torn from his mate, his Alpha, against his will, had survived coming off a cocktail of medications, and had made huge and difficult choices for the betterment of himself even when they went against everything he’d ever known and believed, and he’d come out in the end stronger and happier than he’d ever been in his life.

Sam kissed lips that were identical to his brother’s, and Jensen closed his flashing eyes and kissed Sam back. Jensen knew Sam had been thinking of Dean, had drifted off to some fantasy of his brother, and Sam knew he wasn’t upset by his longing in the least. No more than Sam could hate that Jensen was drawn to him so strongly because Sam resembled the Alpha he’d left behind. Sam accepted it, and was certain Jensen thought often of Jared, though Jensen rarely spoke of him, and Sam wasn’t sensitive enough to pick up on any changes in Jensen’s scent that would tell him his lover was pining, reminiscing, fantasising. But Sam had to deal with Jensen knowing his subtlest of mood changes, and thinking about Dean was the least subtle of them all.

Physiologically different from Sam, from all humans in this reality, Jensen was capable of detecting proteins and pheromones that were so minute as to be nonexistent to anyone else. For Jensen, it was as important as the ability to recognise faces and voices. Alphas and omegas identified each other by scent; Alphas could also be recognised by canine teeth designed to pierce the flesh of their omega mates, to claim them, but it was the scent markers that drew them together. Jensen’s brain must be different, Sam surmised in lieu of an MRI, some part of his olfactory system hypersensitive.

Sam, Jensen explained to him, smelled of citrus, of oranges specifically, and spice—clove and black pepper, he’d later decided, having sniffed all the jars, some ten years old, in Bobby’s cabinets. That Sam could smell Jensen was due to the strength of the omega’s scent, but something else had happened along the way. Again, Sam had to assume without real medical evidence, but he guessed being in such close contact with Jensen had altered his perception, heightened his own sense of smell, maybe even overstimulated or enlarged the parts of his brain used for scent. Not only could he identify Jensen easily enough—and he’d come to love the coconut oil on salted skin perfume that Jensen exuded—Sam could now track Dean by the smoke and caramel of his body.

When Sam was alone with Jensen, when they were close, Jensen claimed Sam poured nectar instead of sweat, but it was the spices that revealed Sam’s thoughts when they drifted to his brother, that pepper-pomander hint which seemed to be evidence of Sam’s concern for Dean. Concern, and desire. Lust.

“The house is awesome, Sam,” Jensen said against his lips, withdrawing just a little to wink one sparkling eye at him. Strong hands roamed down Sam’s body and grabbed his ass and Jensen smiled, tongue pressed against the backs of his teeth. “It will definitely keep me busy. Well done.”

Sam returned the smile, grateful there was no need to hide things from Jensen. Sam was still a hunter. He would be gone for long periods of time, and his life would often be in danger. This house was going to be Jensen’s more than it would be theirs. Sam would put up wards and sigils, of course, but Jensen would be the one to make it a home. Make it comfortable, a place he felt safe.

Jensen had improved by leaps and bounds in the two months Dean had been missing, but making the decision not to go back where he’d come from, to abandon his Alpha, had almost proved too much for him. The added pressure of trying to keep Sam away from Dean when he had come back from Jensen’s world had undone a lot of his progress. Jensen had slept for days at a time, lost weight and muscle mass, mimicking Dean’s deterioration in another part of Bobby's house, and it was then Sam knew he had to get away from Dean even though that was the exact opposite of what he really wanted.

But he’d made a commitment to Jensen. He was Sam’s responsibility now. Sam had wanted him to stay, had encouraged him to, and now he had to care for him because no matter how normal he seemed, he wasn’t. Biologically, he was different, and mentally, he was damaged: anxious at best, schizophrenic and manifesting multiple personalities at his worst, and he needed Sam. He was designed to need a dominant partner, and Sam had willingly stepped into that role.

That’s when Sam borrowed a car off of Bobby’s lot and started driving around the outskirts of Sioux Falls, looking for a place he could settle Jensen where he’d feel safe and where they could be together like Jensen needed them to be. He didn’t want to take Jensen too far from Bobby’s place, though.

“Ah, hell, Sam,” Bobby had gruffed at him as they changed the hoses on the old Chrysler Sam was going to use, “I know that kid needs as much help as he can get. I’m glad you two won’t be under foot all the time—ain’t no room to fart with the four of you mooning around—but he gets bored, or lonely, he’s always welcome here. You make sure he knows that. He does the dishes, for one thing. Pretty good at following directions, might get to be alright under a hood with enough practice. Lord knows I’ll never not have some broken down crap pile needs to be wrenched. Makes a pretty good researcher, too. He’ll be eager enough there with your ass on the line, comes down to it.”

“Thanks, Bobby. I’ll tell him.”

“Yeah. Well, hope you find something soon,” Bobby said, side-eyeing the Impala as it pulled into the junkyard, Castiel behind the wheel, Dean presumably in the car with him, probably slumped over in the seat, head in Cas’ lap by the way he was carefully steering the car with one hand. “Not that it ain’t _de_ lightful watching your brother waste away—”

“I know. I’m just making it worse for him.”

Bobby peered up at Sam from under the bill of his cap, but he only nodded and went back to tightening the clamps. Sam did his job of holding the hood up, watching as Castiel parked and, after a brief struggle inside the cab, got out of the car and went around to the passenger side. Cas disappeared, crouching down after he’d opened the other door, but in a minute or so, Dean appeared, pulling himself up, not even batting at Cas’ hands as they helped Dean steady himself. Even sitting, Dean wavered, and Sam could see his head loll on his neck, drooping as if he was asleep on his feet, which he was barely able to keep under him as Cas coaxed him out of the car.

One arm around Dean’s waist, Cas waited patiently until Dean took a step forward, and then another, towards the house. As they cleared the car, Castiel turned suddenly, as if he’d known Sam was watching them, and nodded a greeting. Sam lifted his hand in return but made no move to assist. He knew Cas would help his brother into the house, into his bed, and Dean would go back into an almost comatose state, not too different than the one Jensen was currently in somewhere else in the house. The only difference was, Dean’s somnambular state was due to the artificial heat he was going through, courtesy of his time in Jensen’s world, and Jensen’s narcolepsy was his reaction to stress.

Which is why Sam’d driven determinedly around in circles, Jensen sometimes sleeping in the back seat, Sam having physically bundled him into it because he’d refused to wake up, other times Jensen actively helping him look, and for two weeks they’d searched for houses to rent. Most were too expensive, or hemmed in by people who might be overly interested in the comings and goings of a hunter and his lover with alien eyes that he could only hide behind silver aviator sunglasses for so long.

It was the city-mandated ditch cleaning that had revealed the house to the pair, the road crews having removed enough brush to uncover a cracked and warped For Sale By Owner sign down an overgrown lane next to a well-worn driveway lined with trees which obscured the house itself. The number Sam dialed was answered by a woman with a Buffalo accent and no interest in the house whatsoever. Her father had built it in the thirties, and she wanted rid of it now that the old man was dead, and she practically gave it to Sam for free, or, rather, for Bobby’s signature on a handful of faxed documents and a monthly bill of almost pocket change, which the woman implied would be paying her pet insurance fee.

There was hardly anything to take from Bobby’s: a couple duffles of clothing between them, and the mattress set Sam had bought for Jensen, which Bobby said he would burn if they didn’t haul out. The only thing he would leave behind, what would keep Sam up at night wanting to go back for, was Dean.

It hurt, but Sam understood. He had done his best, at Dean’s bidding, to keep away from him. Dean had hid when he could, locking himself in another room if Sam was around, or in the bathroom, the shower running but the moisture in the air cold like the water he was running over himself. Feet skidding, Dean would retreat any time he rounded a corner and caught sight of Sam, or, physically unable to back away, he’d clutch the door frame, the table, Castiel, whatever was nearby—and Cas was almost always nearby—and glare until Sam backed off, left the room, put as much distance between himself and Dean as he could without leaving entirely.

He had nowhere to go, and had Jensen to think about now.

Jensen had improved, being here, in this dimension, with Sam. But Dean, having been cast unwillingly into Jensen’s world, had suffered terribly. Drugged, abused, raped, his body altered and his mind fractured by medication, he’d spent more than a year fighting to stay sane, to remember who he was, and Sam had only managed to rescue him after Dean had given up, given into the pressure to be someone he was not; to be Jensen, to be the omega to Jared’s Alpha, the creature who shared Sam’s visage and personality and devotion to Dean _almost_ perfectly. The Alpha had differed in a few important ways. Sam lacked the canine teeth Jared had used to claim Dean, as well as the thick knot at the base of his dick Jared had locked inside Dean when he’d fucked him.

Sam had known Jensen wasn’t Dean immediately. Jared had not been so keen. The world Dean had found himself in lacked magic; lacked God’s influence and mythology, was cut off from angelic and demonic interference after the initial mess the angels had made of the world. Viewed through the lens of science, which for better or worse was the way Jensen’s world operated, Dean had simply been deemed a manifestation of Jensen’s fractured personalities, and had been treated as such.

Antipsychotics designed for creatures with a stronger make-up had driven Dean half mad. Hormones injected into this body regularly had transformed him slowly into an omega. Relatively docile, complacent, born to fulfill the needs of their Alpha, an omega was a highly valued womb, and treated as a second-class person, thought to be less capable in all matters except breeding, child rearing, and sexually gratifying their mate. Dean had been forced into that role with very little hope of ever escaping. He’d not been able to run or beg his way free, had no access to any magical forces that could help, and any resistance only ended up with more of his free will and identity being stripped away from him.

Sam had worked furiously to rescue him, but time had been his enemy. Planetary alignments had to be right, and that had cost Dean. Time moved differently where he had been. Two months Sam had to wait to do the ritual that would bring his brother back, but more than a year had passed for Dean, and when he’d been finally ripped back through time and space, had appeared smoldering and broken on the floor in front of Jensen, covered in his own blood and in Jared’s, he was, for all intents and purposes, an omega.

Castiel had healed the injuries done to him by Alastair's physical violence: the broken leg, shattered jaw, the cuts from crushed vials of stuff that had seared his skin like acid, the smoke damage to his lungs from the building that had been burning around him as he’d held Jared (the dead Alpha who’d realised his mistake only too late and had saved Dean from Alastair), but Cas was unable to change what had been biologically altered in him. The tiny particles of Grace now inside of Dean, so minuscule, were nonetheless safeguarded by God’s own decree and inaccessible to Castiel’s healing powers. Dean would have to detox from everything he’d been forced to ingest and injected with on his own.

Unbeknownst to Dean, the day he’d decided to fight back was the same day, in another dimension, that Sam had completed the spell which would bring him home. And it was the same day Dean’s modified body had gone into heat. As an omega, Dean was subject to a form of estrous, and along with being able to produce a type of sexual lubricant to aid the whole process of being knotted by his mate, by Jared, Sam’s look-alike, Dean had returned just in time to begin an almost month long heat cycle.

Jensen was leading Sam around the house, chatting happily as he pointed out built-in shelves and places in the floor where vines were growing up through the boards, and Sam was still half-hard and aching a little, his head and balls, not really listening to the words Jensen was saying but content with the overall tone. He felt as if he’d been in this state of in-between forever lately. Like there wasn’t a time he could remember not feeling the pull of his brother on every aspect of his being.

Dean going into heat had changed everything between the brothers irrevocably. Sam was pretty sure he could have stowed most of the newly surfaced feelings he had for Dean, ones unearthed by the appearance of the licentious creature now rattling window frames. And Dean, being the best at ignoring the obvious when it made him uncomfortable, could have overlooked the fact that his brother was fucking, was in love with, someone who looked just like him. But the heat had destroyed any chance of that, and Jensen had facilitated the demolition. Not out of malice; rather by being the creature that he was.

By trying to help Dean and please his new Alpha, he’d pushed them together. Not hard on Sam’s part, admittedly, but Dean hadn’t been in any state to say how he really felt, and Sam tried not to let it turn his stomach to acid wondering if what the three of them had done together in those first days of Dean’s return, the early days of his heat, could ever be forgiven by Dean. He had forced Sam away as soon as he’d been able, when his heat had abated for a mere moment before returning in force. Dean had stumbled back from Sam, taking half of Sam’s heart with him.

That he’d gone straight to Castiel was something Sam could understand. He’d always known Castiel was in love with Dean, and he didn’t begrudge Cas Dean’s affections. Dean was safe with Cas, and since there was nothing else Sam could do for his brother, at least he had that small assurance: Dean was being taken care of. He was a wreck; what glimpses of him Sam did get were of a man disintegrating. Uninterested in eating as per the demands of his hormones, he was as thin as Sam had ever seen him, hollow-eyed and razor-cheeked, pale from so much time spent indoors, his body only wanting two things: sleep and sex, both of which muddled his thinking and words.

Sam was a poor imitation of the true Alpha an omega in heat craved, but once Dean was out of Sam’s reach completely, the biology involved ravaged Dean, addled his mind and his movements, left him crying and angry and hurting terribly, and Sam had nearly been driven mad by the deep seated desire to help his brother. _That_ had always been there, but adding the scent of an omega in heat to Sam’s newly heightened senses left Sam disoriented and impulsive. More than once he’d found himself standing outside the room Castiel and Dean had interred themselves in, listening to the couple fucking. It sounded a lot like fighting half the time, and Sam had shook himself, unclenched his fists and backed away, wondering how long he’d been rooted to the spot, his hard and leaking cock announcing to him it had been long enough.

“Sam,” Jensen called, his voice soft.

Sam blinked a few times and glanced around. Jensen was standing in the doorway of the room he’d led Sam into, his hand out, his face in shadow, his impossible eyes not giving him away for what, and who, he truly was, and Sam was in tatters, loving Jensen but wanting so much more.

“Come on,” Jensen said, and Sam took his hand, letting him coax him back into reality. Next to the creature, Jensen’s scent inviting and calming, his body warm and so familiar, Sam could let go, for a moment, of all the worry and loss and pain.

For a moment.

Jensen smiled at him again. “Let’s go get our stuff,” he said. “I wanna sleep here tonight. With you.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Dean closed his eyes, whenever his adrenaline-filled body and frayed nerves would let him, he saw Sam. Like always, forever. From the start.

Watching out for Sam meant looking at Sam and there’s a Sam-shaped burn in his retinas, a shadow-self little brother mark on his permanent record. No matter what he did, where he was, what happened: Sam.

Baby Sam, clean and fed, dirty and crying, hungry. Kid Sam, so smart, sad. The boy, angry, looking up, too attached to a restless teenager.

The young man, betrayed, determined, pleading, leaving.

A hunter, trailing fire and frost, bloody inside and out.

His brother. Friend, companion, fuck-up, and saviour.

Lover.

 _I love you_ , branded on Dean’s heart, echoing in his ears, citrus flavoured. Oranges, iron, salt, blood, come, and tears. Dean could see Sam. Hear him, taste him. He closed his eyes and Sam was there in the dark, in his heart and head. In his hands, against his lips, over him. Inside him, and everywhere. Dean’s exhausted, deprived mind slouched towards his Sam, wanted to crawl, would feel right to crawl, but he stopped short every time.

It used to be, drag himself up, be the older brother, don’t bend, don’t let Sam see him weak. Protect him, look out for him, be strong for him. Then it became, don’t fall, be strong without Sam, he will need that when he comes back, don’t fall now.

Now.

Now, tripping, dragging himself over hallowed ground, his mind-heart-soul-brother turned, twisted, silhouetted, and smiled, and there were fangs, two long teeth designed to pierce flesh, mark skin, scar. Dean’s scarred and he wanted it, and he opened his eyes, hating himself, hating losing Sam and seeing Jared.

Or was it better that way? Maybe it would be the last time, this time.

Dean looked at the ceiling, eyes tracing the familiar stain, unseen. It must be early a.m., and he could go back to sleep and he wouldn’t get lost in his own mind again, wouldn’t run into the Alpha-with-his-brother’s-face while searching for Sam. Searching, supplicating, being beckoned.

He heard a noise downstairs, heard his own laughter, and did his brother do this? Did Sam even bother trying to separate Jensen from Dean, or did they just blend together in the dark, in Sam’s bed, his heart, and was Sam happy with the mix?

Sam kept Jensen when he’d had the chance to go back where he came from. The omega-with-Dean’s-face, moving inside an identical body; Sam wanted it and kept it and Jensen never tried to find his way home. Dean had been _there_ , where Jensen should have been—although lately, watching reluctantly as the mad-minded being smiled more, laughed more as he was laughing now, balled-up less, flinched less, Dean was certain Jensen hadn’t belonged where he had been. Dean had saved him, unwittingly.

Saved Jensen, and gotten his Alpha killed.

Sam had known the difference between Dean and Jensen, but Dean had not been so easily spliced by Jared and had suffered as Jensen, had corroded in the omega’s place. Jared had not been evil or malicious, any more than Sam was those things, but circumstances dictated procedure and senses in that other place, and Dean had been raped of self by Jared, the Alpha stuffing Dean into the Jensen-warped mold, carving away what didn’t fit until Dean had become something else, had released everything about himself that hadn’t helped him survive, which had been everything except Sam.

When Jared hadn’t been touching Dean, wasn’t petting him, loving him, giving him injections and medications and forcing sex on him, Dean could pretend he was Sam, and Sam was Dean’s beacon, his homing device, his sanity—the only little bit he was allowed. When the Alpha _was_ touching Dean, caressing him, holding him down, hurting him and fucking him, Dean _made_ him into Sam, demanded it of his own imagination, or Dean would have killed. Himself. He’d edged it, toed over, looked into that abyss, but it had been Jared who’d gone down, saving Dean. Just like Sam would have. Had. Done already.

His hunter’s instincts dulled, his body rebellious, his mind indistinct, and his will corrupted, he had held the Alpha as Jared bled, whispered, died, and Dean might have died with him, but Sam had brought him home. That Dean was not exactly the brother he’d lost, Sam didn’t seem to care. He welcomed the changes, even, and if Dean had been awarded more than a few hours to adjust, to recognise what was happening, he would have been more careful.

Caution was not an option for Dean now. He had been transformed, shifted, manipulated and manufactured into an omega. Like Jensen. And he was in heat; _submit_ , _mate_ , _fuck_ , _breed_. That his own brother was the closest thing to the Alpha his blood, heart, and cock were screaming at him to hand himself over to was horrifying. That he couldn’t define _why_ it was horrifying he despised himself for, and he closed his eyes again, and Sam was there, shade to cool his boiling blood. Answers, Sam always had the answers, and that’s why Dean moved towards him again, always. Forever.

Sam was too close this time. In the darkness, his brother was everything, everywhere, and Dean’s heart jumped painfully in his chest, flooded into the overflow, and he pressed his own hand to his lips to keep the shout inside. Sam would hear, and he would come, and Dean wanted him to. Hated himself that he wanted.

_Oh, god, want. Hate. Want so much…_

A rush. A disturbance, mild spring wind, the promise of flowers.

Castiel.

Dean needed protection. From himself, this other-self, his new omega-self, and what it wanted. From Sam. And protection _from_ Sam; though he _probably_ would have stayed away as Dean had begged of him, it was hard for either of them to withstand what the heat was doing to Dean, what it was driving them both to do: _mate_ , _fuck_ , _breed_.

But Cas…

He reached out, blindly, and the angel was there.

Dean needed, and Castiel was willing to give, and he found some measure of safety with Cas. Dean needed: touch, presence, _had_ to have someone else near him, with him, or his messed-up body caught fire, his chest ached, his omega instincts propelled him towards his brother until he was literally clawing at anything close and nailed down to keep from following through.

Cas helped Dean feel more in control, and Dean fixated on him. Wanted him, reached for him. Cas watched over him, and Dean felt better with him near. He was an anchor that kept Dean from following the current of his blood, that kept him away from Sam.

Jensen had tried, after his failed attempt to push the brothers together. Dean wanted to hate Jensen for that, for baiting him, for putting him in a position where he couldn’t say no to either him or Sam, but it hadn’t been Jensen’s fault, really. It was Sam who wanted Dean, and Jensen had only been trying to help. There was so much of Jensen that was pure genetics, and pleasing his Alpha was his first instinct. Dean couldn’t hate Jensen. Dean understood what it was like to be an omega.

He couldn't be alone, and Cas kept his promise and stayed with him, even when Dean was sleeping, which Dean used to really hate once upon a time. And when he wasn’t sleeping, he tried to stay drunk. Drunk or sober, though, it didn't matter; what he said to Cas during those first days was the same whether he was hammered or hung-over or shower fresh. He said _Stay, please_ , and _Don’t go. I want you here._ Cas said _I will_ , _I won’t_ , and _I want to be here._ When Dean said simply _Please_ , and _I need you_ , and then, _I want you_ , Cas said nothing and let Dean kiss him.

It was a whirlwind romance. Or some shit like that; Dean meant to actually look the definition up, but it felt like the right term.

Moving too fast, consumed with one another.

Castiel was patient and slow and most importantly, seemed to have no expectation of how Dean should or shouldn’t be. Even when he faltered, floundered, failed utterly and had to start all over again, when he acted impulsively, snapping peevishly one moment and rutting against Cas the next, Cas just went with it. When Dean clammed up and pushed him away, reaching for and hugging his liquor instead, Cas sat next to him and quietly waited for the moment to pass. When he apologised, Cas said it was fine, that he didn’t need to. That was what he was here for.

Cas had not pressured Dean after their first kiss, had kept his distance as best as he remembered how, like Dean had taught him over the years, and so it was Dean who, sober, two days after kissing him in the junkyard, crawled into Castiel’s lap and, shaking, fumbling, peeled away the layers of clothing between them. Castiel let him do what he wanted and watched Dean’s fingers, watched his face, studied the rise and fall of his chest, kept his own hands at his sides as Dean stripped them both. He listened carefully to the gasps and whines Dean couldn’t seem to help but make, could hear the pop of his jaw and grind of his teeth as he tried to resist what he was doing even as he did it.

He kept track of the varying flavours of Dean’s body when his mouth was pressed to flesh, Dean’s hand on the back of his head, in his hair, guiding him where he needed to feel the most right that second. Salt sweat on his chest, smoke at his collarbones, sugar in his hairline. Wetness like boiling honey he tasted lower when Dean had given up trying to pretend he was in control, that he wanted to _be_ in control, and Castiel had lain him back, had smoothed Dean out beneath him, using just his fingertips at first.

Dean threw an arm over his face, hiding his eyes, and Cas let him, but he pushed harder, using his palms, stroking and pulling, massaging until Dean groaned, his hard cock bobbing and dipping into the pooling slick it was leaking on his belly. Cas leaned into him then, covering his body with his own, making a mess of them both as he moved against Dean, finally as close to him as he’d ever wanted to be.

Dean peered at him from under his arm, ashamed. Castiel didn’t like that look on his human’s face, he decided. The expression didn’t suit Dean at all, so he did what he could to change it.

Angels in their cosmic shape _were_ ‘junkless’, as Dean so ineloquently stated, and Castiel was indeed a virgin, but he’d long ago integrated his vessel’s memories, muscle and emotional. Jimmy Novak’s sexual repertoire was not vast, and encompassed only masturbation and pleasuring his wife, but the man had a particularly favourite experience, one during which he seemed certain his only daughter had been conceived, and Castiel decided to mimic that would be a good place to start.

He rolled them, and Dean was obliged to uncover his face to balance himself as Cas repositioned him on his knees, straddling Cas’ narrow hips.

“Cas?” Dean murmured, the sound shy and laced with lust.

“Show me what you need, Dean,” he said.

But Dean was overstimulated, confused, his mind a tumultuous mess and Cas didn’t know yet that the voices Dean’d heard when he’d been drugged to the point of insanity had almost always sounded like Castiel’s, that he’d just pitched Dean back in time to a place of panic and schizophrenia and pain, rape and helplessness. Dean gasped and the ashamed expression on his face was replaced with one of shock, and then fear, and his hands came up to cover his ears.

Cas didn’t understand, but he instinctively knew he couldn’t let Dean slip away. He grabbed him, wrist and thigh, and with a quick snap of his hips, he was inside Dean for the first time. Later, he would have to relearn this; Dean’s body would change, he would not be able to take penetration as easily as he did now, but Castiel got away with it the first time.

Dean cried out and fell forward, knees splaying wide, body curling to get as much of Cas’ cock inside of him as he could and he ground down so hard he would be sore from it. Wide-eyed, perhaps still a little frightened, he locked his arms under Cas’ and began to move.

A long time later, Castiel wondered if what he’d done, taking Dean like that, had been a mistake and if the way Dean was behaving now could lawfully be considered consent on Dean’s part. He was so desperate. Hungry, frantic. He seemed to vacillate wildly between angry and pleased, demanding and submissive, to the point Cas was worried about his sanity. Dean told him to shut up and not to stop, and Castiel did his best to comply, happy to be of help, happy that Dean needed him.

He couldn’t help Dean come, couldn’t make him orgasm, and that was terribly frustrating for both of them. More for Dean, admittedly, but Castiel hated seeing him suffer. He knew what Dean required as an omega that would allow him to come, but Dean had refused.

“We’re not doing that. _You’re_ not doing that.”

“But I understand why it has to happen. Sam and I talked about it—”

Dean threw himself across the bench seat to the far side of the Impala and Castiel watched the muscles in his jaw twitch.

“Dean, I do not understand why you get so upset when I mention your brother, or exactly why Bobby asked him to leave. I will not talk about him again if that is what you want.”

“It’s what I want, yeah. Leave him outta this.”

“Alright. But still, I know that your new physiology requires you to have an Alpha present to achieve orgasm. A knot or—”

“Cas, shut the fuck up. I don’t need, or want, anything but you. Do you get that? Well, now I want a drink, too. But you, okay? Just you. It doesn’t fucking matter if I get off right now. I can hang. Things’ll get better. I will get better, and I can’t deal with you doing weird shit to me, okay?”

Getting drunk only took the edge off Dean’s heat for a short time, and then stopped working completely. He ached and sweated and cried, cursing. Not at anyone or anything, just outbursts of profanity as he arched and writhed and wiggled away from and under and against Cas.

It got hot; summer in South Dakota was no joke, and Dean was feverish and near comatose a week after the conversation in the car when Castiel hauled him from their wrecked room—which had been Sam and Jensen’s room until Bobby had kicked them out to a motel for the time being—and half-dragged Dean to a huge aluminum trough he’d found in the junkyard and filled up with water from the hose.

Dean barely reacted when Cas let him slip into the cold water, but he was coherent enough to pull Castiel in with him. It soothed Dean, so Cas made a ritual of it; when Dean physically could not move anymore, when his cock was dark and swollen and painful to the touch, when Castiel was worried about his shifting temper, when he noticed places on both their bodies he needed to heal, Cas would carry Dean to the tub and leave the water running icy through the hose, overflowing, making the dry ground around them into a mucky mess, and he’d hold Dean back against him and stare up into the sky while Dean mumbled and whimpered and sometimes fell asleep, and they passed almost a month in this way.

Dean was thin and exhausted, but Cas didn’t notice. Bobby cornered him finally and said the boy looked like he was dying, but Cas didn’t know what to do about it. The kind of sleep Cas could offer wasn’t natural and didn’t do much good, and he forgot Dean should have been eating, because he himself didn’t need to.

Spoon feeding Dean pie and ice cream at Bobby’s exasperated suggestion was more enjoyable than he could have imagined, and when Dean asked for french fries to dip in the ice cream, Cas was eager to oblige him, even though it meant leaving him and going into town to a Dairy Queen, because Dean insisted they had the best fries. Cas made sure that Dean had food available after that, and a few days of nourishment even got Dean moving around on his own again. He went with Bobby on a couple of salt and burn cases. Cas wanted to go with them, but both Bobby and Dean said no.

“You distract me,” Dean supplied, and gave him a wink. Castiel didn’t mind being left behind after that, pride balming his loneliness. Besides, there were things he needed to do…   

Physical exertion seemed to help Dean sleep and, slowly, he began to recover. His appetite increased, his fevers lessened, his aches faded, his lust waned, though his desire to be with Castiel did not, and one night while Castiel was behind him, fucking him hard down into the foam pad they were using as a mattress, since Sam and Jensen had taken theirs with them when they’d found a house to put it in, Dean orgasmed.

He screamed when it happened, and Castiel clamped his hand over Dean’s mouth, having overheard Bobby telling Dean to stop waking the dead, that old men needed their beauty sleep. Dean went limp and would have collapsed if Cas hadn’t held him up. He wanted to see. Dean’s come was thick and fragrant with salt and iron and streaked with blood, and Cas slid a fingerful into his own mouth, curious. He enjoyed the way everything else about Dean tasted, and this was no different.

Dean whined behind Cas’ hand, eyes rolling, following his movement, watching as Cas curled his lips around the wet digit and sucked it clean, and he thought Dean was blushing until Cas realised he was keeping him from breathing. He released his grip and Dean gasped.

“God, fuck, Cas, almost—can’t believe—so glad—fuck!” he babbled, looking down at himself. His cock was hard and still oozing, pearls of pent-up come rolling down the solid length of it.

“Should I stop?”

“I don’t—fuck. No, please. No. Is that blood? _Fuck_.” Dean shuddered and his eyes closed, but he rocked back against Cas.

“It is, Dean. It’s blood and your ejaculate and I like the taste of it. I want to make you do it again.”

He did. Twice. The next one was easy and happened within minutes of the first. Cas pushed Dean forward onto his hands and knees again and crouched behind him, over him, changing the angle of his cock until it was hitting Dean in the place that made Dean go silent, that made him hold his breath until Cas pounded it out of him, and this time when his breath exploded from his throat, his cock emptied again. There was more blood in it this time, but Cas trickled Grace through the panting hunter and found nothing wrong, nothing in need of healing, and Dean managed to nod his head when Castiel asked him if he was alright before he lost consciousness, on his side, his angel spooned around him.

Cas let Dean move around in his arms as he slept, and he kept watch over him. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth occasionally, squeezing the flavour of Dean’s come out of the cells, sucking on it, mixing it with his own saliva, marveling that one being could hold such a profusion of beauty inside themselves.

When Dean opened his eyes, the green gone grey in the night, Castiel was face to face with him, and smiled.

“Cas.”

“Yes, Dean.”

“I’m gonna be okay. I didn’t think I was. Thought I was messed up for good. I’m not. Get to be me again. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“It is, ain’t it?” he snickered, sliding his hand over Castiel’s cock; hard again, already, still. Dean was never sure, and it didn’t matter. He wanted, and Cas gave to him immediately.

They fucked again, and this was more along the lines of what Castiel had intended the first time. Dean was loose and relaxed, leaning back against Cas’ bent knees as he moved, thrusting languidly, lazily, randomly, and they were both gasping and sighing. Dean’s teeth clicked together occasionally when Cas caught him off guard with a hard lift of his hips, and they played with Dean’s cock, fingers tangling and pushing, palms wet and slippery with the copious precome Dean produced, and it was with Cas tugging hard on his ball sac and Dean stroking himself, both of their eyes fastened on this new development, that Dean came again. There were still rivulets of blood in it, but Dean was elated.

“I’m starving,” Dean complained later. He shook his head, sending water drops flying around, having insisted on a shower. And a shave, Castiel noticed.

“I can go—”

“No. I mean, nah, man, it’s cool. I wanna get out of here for a minute. There’s a Denny’s. Can get it to go, no biggie. Wait,” he said as Castiel reached for his clothes. “I just… I need to—just me, okay? Me time.”

“You time?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel settled back into the bed. Dean dressed: jeans, boots, white tee shirt and a blue flannel, and spiked his hair quickly, gel fingered through it first to hold it in place. Deodorant on and his watch in the pocket of his green jacket, he gave Cas a small, twisted smile and reached for the door.

“Be good, Cas.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Two days after going out for food, Dean slammed through the front door of Bobby’s house. He grabbed onto Castiel’s trench coat and, ignoring Sam’s concern and irritation all roiling together as he called after them, dragged Cas out of the room and outside, into the Impala with him. Spraying rocks, he fishtailed from the salvage yard and spun the car towards the bluffs.

Castiel said nothing. He hadn’t tried to find Dean, and told Sam to stop calling his brother after the first day.

He knew Dean would come back.

Dean smelled of beer and stale cigarette smoke and women and blood—not his own—and he looked terribly unhappy. There was a bruise under one eye, Castiel noticed, and his knuckles were torn and swollen.

“Sorry, Baby,” Dean murmured as the car bottomed out when they left the pavement and hit the gravel road that wound through the bluffs. He slowed down and slipped an eye towards Cas, and ducked his head as he steered them higher.

“I think the car warrants another apology,” Castiel said later, fingering a tear Dean’s belt buckle had made in the vinyl seat.

Dean could only swallow, his throat now as bruised as his eye after he’d goaded Cas into gripping it hard enough to make his head swim.

Cas considered him briefly before adding, “You might have scratched the paint on the hood, as well.”

Dean had pleaded with him just to fuck him _Now, please, out here, I don’t care,_ and Cas had complied and Dean had been weak-kneed and silent for a long time afterwards and the stars had come out above them. Dean shivered and that’s when they had ended up in the back seat. He leaned his head back on Cas’ shoulder now, sweating in the confines of the car.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped after clearing his throat several times.

“I’m sure you’ll fix it.”

“No, dummy. You. I’m sorry I left without saying anything. I won’t do it again. There is nothing out there for me anymore.”

“Okay, Dean. I wasn’t upset you left.”

“You weren’t? Well, why the hell not? I would’ve been.”

“I missed you, but I knew you’d come back.”

“I didn’t know it. I thought…that I wanted to get away. I can’t, though.”

“Why not?”

“What the fuck, Cas? Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not. I just want to know what you want.”

“Oh. I…I want you. I want my brother back, too.”

“Sam’s here. You saw him.”

“That’s not… Never mind. Yeah, I saw him.”

Dean asked Cas what _he_ wanted.

“To be needed by you,” Cas answered without hesitation.

“I do.”

“To be trusted,” Cas added.

“That, too.”

“I want to know what happened to you when you were gone.”

Dean hesitated.

“I am deeply curious about all of it,” Castiel insisted.

“Why?”

“Because it is obviously important to you.”

“It’s not—”

“Dean.”

“So. Okay. That’s it?”

“Well, the world itself, and the beings there. No angel really knows anything about it.”

“You want the Inside Edition?”

“What?”

Dean spared a thought for a blondish milf and smiled. “Nothin’, Cas. You sure, though? I don’t wanna be, like, ‘that guy’. Baggage.”

Castiel lowered his head, looked at Dean from beneath soot-coloured lashes, and Dean put up both hands in mock surrender.

Dean began to tell Castiel everything that had happened to him when he and Jensen had been switched. Just. Everything. The whole story. Not all at once; in dreams, in the car, in bed. After sex. Before sex. He talked about it during their first date, though in his mind he decided that on their next date, a _real_ date, he was not going to talk about it, but this time, because Cas wanted it, he’d do it.

Not that the date Cas took him on didn’t count. The early 1960’s style diner Castiel made up for him in his sleep was picture perfect down to the cherry pie and Buddy Holly, but since there hadn’t been anyone else there, he ended up talking about it, without time constraints to worry about, or anyone overhearing the details. Some of the things were easy to say, like what he’d already told Sam, the extra he’d shared with Jensen.

What Dean said to Castiel, though, was, well, everything. The details. Cas was interested on many levels, he explained when Dean started feeling self-conscious, started worrying that he shouldn’t because it was like telling him about an ex or something, wasn’t it?

He talked into the night. Well, whatever. It _was_ night. He was asleep, technically. But somehow Cas made the time go by in a way that the night seemed to last forever, but Dean never got that worn-out feeling of an all-nighter, and with the help of inky dream-coffee and half the cherry pie, Cas heard a good portion of the story.

Dean told it in order, but also in layers. Peeling back the first was a warm-up for Dean. For one thing, he’d never talked at such length with Cas before and he wanted to make sure he was making sense, that Cas understood, could ask questions, didn’t get confused. He told him about the world first. The differences in technology and politics. The absence of religion really sparked Cas’ interest, but Dean could only tell him so much.

“I really didn’t care, to be honest. Once I figured out there was no magic, I just ignored it all. But I’ve been wondering lately… Do you think those people there… Do they go to Heaven when they die?”

Castiel pondered the question, watching Dean pick at the pie with his fingers. He hadn’t eaten anything, said he preferred to watch Dean enjoy himself.

“Fucking voyeur.”

“You’re remarkable and beautiful and fascinating, Dean.”

“Oh. Um, thanks. Don’t ever say that again.”

Now: “I think they must go to Heaven. I cannot fathom God punishing them for what the angels did, though perhaps their Heaven is separate, or hidden, from everyone else’s, as well. You’re asking this because of Jared, correct?”

Dean nodded. The night sky outside the window shadowed his reflection in the glass, darkening his eyes. He pushed the conversation forward, away from the Alpha and his death, clear of anything too personal this time around. He told Cas about the weird caste system he’d been forced into as an omega, how very hard that had been to conform to, but how he’d gotten used to it eventually. It had even become easy. Repetition, drugs, the desire to please Jared, it had all changed Dean.

When he got to the end of what he knew about where he had been without naming any names, he started over. With Jensen this time. He felt uneasy sharing intimate details with Castiel without Jen’s permission, but it was impossible to relate what he’d gone through without Cas knowing _why_ ; what had been expected of him because everyone there had thought him the opal-eyed omega.

The parallels between Dean and Jensen’s lives were uncanny. Dean already knew that, but it made his head spin just a little more and maybe even his gut twist a bit when Castiel reminded him there was a universe full of variations of them. Of Sam and Dean and, well, not Castiel necessarily, but Jimmy Novak, and this girl Charlie. Alastair. Dean talked about Alastair, but Cas made him skim the details when Dean’s voice became halting, his tone wavering between angry and unsettled. Dean nodded his thanks, though he flinched when Cas leaned across the table and took the pulped and shredded napkin out of his fingers and set it aside.

Dean stretched, arched his back, spread his arms wide and hung them over the back of the plastic seat.

“If you need to stop—” Cas offered.

“Wanna dance?”

“Dance?”

“With me. Come on.”

Dean was on his feet and pulling Cas from the booth and towards the center of the diner, a smile on his face. Dean tugged them to a stop before going to the jukebox and jabbing at the buttons a few times.

“I’ve never danced before.”

Dean winked. “I’ll lead.”

_‘Just you know why, why you and I…’_

Castiel let Dean remove his trench coat. His eyes tracked it as it was tossed away, then Dean’s warm hand was on his cheek and turning his head back to face him. Dean was grinning now and the hand slipped down Cas’ neck, his arm, found his hand and held it a little out to one side. The other hand was on Cas’ waist, spanning the space between his belt and his ribs, and Dean started to move. Rocking from one foot to the other, pulling gently on his hip, Dean swayed Cas around in a slow circle. They didn’t speak. Castiel had only ever asked him ‘Why?’ once, and Dean’s answer of ‘Just because I want to’ had apparently been enough for Cas to take the rest on faith.

The song ended and in the silence before the next one began, Dean shifted positions. With a quick slide of his hand, he had Cas’ shirt untucked and was under it, palm against smooth skin. Castiel blinked at him.

“What? Relax. Lean back. Put one arm around my neck, the other down, yeah, like that, at your side.”

_‘Stay just a little bit longer…’_

Dean’s hips moved first, grinding against Cas’, forcing him to bend his knees in concert with Dean’s movements. Soon, he was almost tossing Cas around, swinging and catching him effortlessly, one arm loosely around his waist, bending him back, pressing his thigh between Cas’ legs until he was wide-eyed and aroused.

“Had a girlfriend,” Dean said, just a bit out of breath when the song ended, “for a summer. In Milwaukee. She loved this stuff. She made me watch Dirty Dancing a thousand times, I think, and you know, fuckin’ Swayze, man, he was hot shit. ‘Nobody puts Baby in the corner!’” he quoted and lifted Cas onto the counter.

“Your car? I hardly think it would fit—”

Dean kissed him, shoving his hands under Cas’ shirt. Cas let out a grunt, and if Dean hadn’t been used to the sound—a low noise that originated in his throat and was expelled through his nose in a short burst—he would have thought Cas was displeased, had even drawn away the first few times. Now, Dean just got turned on. Cas made the hottest fucking noises for a badass angel of the Lord and Dean knew just how to elicit every one of them.

He pinched Castiel’s nipples. Hard. Cas opened his legs and wrapped them around Dean’s hips and the noise came again. There was no use being tender. Cas had pointed out that he’d been punched, tortured, stabbed, shot, and exploded, that he could only taste and smell with considerable effort, he couldn’t feel cold or heat unless he wanted to, and it had taken an entire liquor store to get him moderately drunk, so no offense intended, but the light touches and caresses Dean had tentatively started out with were entirely lost on him. Not that he liked pain, per say, just that if Dean wanted Castiel to feel something, he should go big.

Squeezing, twisting, nails dragging, Dean bucked hard between Cas’ thighs and he gasped, reached back to hold the edge of the counter so he wouldn’t get pushed over the other side. A rip, and his shirt was open and Dean’s mouth left a wet trail as their lips parted. Down Cas’ body, neck, shoulder, chest, Dean sucked and nipped, fingers digging into the fabric of Cas’ slacks as if he wanted to rip them away, too.

Dean loved leaving marks on Castiel. Hickies, bruises from his fingertips, his hip bones, bite marks. Castiel wore them proudly. He could have healed them away, Dean even said he wouldn’t mind, but Cas didn’t. Courteous, Dean kept them where clothing would cover them. Where only he would see them. Like the hand-print Castiel had left when he’d raised Dean from Hell, when his touch had purified Dean’s tainted soul, the marks were private and intimate and only for the two of them. He told Cas he’d been pissed when the scar had disappeared after Cas had healed him one time or another, so perhaps it was an act of contrition that he wore Dean’s bruises until they faded on their own. However it was, Dean loved it.

He traced a random path between marks, some yellowing and almost gone, some blue, new, or freckled red, burst blood vessels, his lips sucking, tongue lapping, teeth scraping. He latched on to the flesh just beside Castiel’s nipple and pulled hard. Cas’ head snapped back and his body rolled in a slow wave under Dean’s. He was hard. Dean could feel it against his belly. When he palmed it, Cas thrust up into his hand.

Dean, teeth raking Cas’ skin, glimpsed the angry mark when Castiel’s hand on the back of his head forced him away from it, down. Dean’s fingers flew over the buttons of Cas’ slacks, but he slowed, almost reverential as he freed him. Very thick and standing straight, it should have surprised Dean the first time he’d seen it, but Jared had described Jimmy Novak’s cock in detail.

Sliding his fingers around the base, Dean just managed to open his mouth in time for Cas’ push. It filled him completely, dragging along the insides of his teeth even when he opened his jaw as wide as he could. He was used to the size by now and just closed his eyes tightly when Cas hit the back of his palate and kept going. He willed himself to relax, to let Cas in.

It hurt, he couldn’t deny it; the stretch and burn of his throat muscles brought him to tears, made his mouth water uncontrollably, but hey, the sense of accomplishment, right? He couldn’t keep it up for long, though. He tried to groan but only ended up coughing saliva over his fingers and onto Cas.

Cas let go of his head and Dean gasped for breath even as he cleaned up the excess wet with his tongue, then he ruined the work by spitting on Cas’ cock, working it slippery with one hand. The other tore at his jeans. Knees on the seat, holding on to Cas for balance, he leaned in, spitting more, his cock meeting Castiel’s.

Cas brushed Dean’s hand away, using both of his to cage them together, letting Dean hold him up, one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping the counter. Dean thrust into Cas’ fist, thighs banging into wood. Their cheeks brushing, they both watched where they were touching, rubbing, sliding together, hard-rimmed and catching on each other.

Dean could see both of Castiel’s hands, so it didn’t make sense that he could feel them, too. On his ass, under his thighs, Cas’ strong fingers digging in and massaging, stroking, moving in long, sweeping caresses from his hips to his knees and back again, something Cas’d learned turned Dean to jelly. His legs were pushed apart and he had vertigo thinking he was going to fall off the stool.

“Look at me,” Cas said. Dean moved his face back. Hooded blue eyes, commanding, only a little glassy, met his. “Do not stop. I want you to come, here in the dream.”

“I felt—”

“I know. I have you. I am with you.”

A nod and Dean moved, hips jerking, quick and rough, Castiel’s fingers almost hurting, but he liked it, tight and controlled. Hands at his thighs again and then heat deep between them, and something wet. Slick. He shuddered.

“Here, Dean. Now.”

He made a noise. A whine, a weak protest. Confused. Not confused. Afraid. Thrown back into another place, time, someone else.

“Trust me.”

Dean concentrated on moving, on the friction, on pleasuring Cas. It wasn’t slick. He didn’t do that anymore, and he could come on his own again, he had control over his body and how he used it. How he wanted it to be used. His eyes fluttered open. Cas’ outline in the darkness was unmistakable, as was his touch. His scent. Two things _had_ lingered: the obsidian chips in his eyes and his sense of smell. Cas was all crushed flowers, something…romantic.

“Like… I dunno, like, medieval,” Dean had said, frustrated at trying to describe it.

“I smell of the Dark Ages?”

“Yeah, maybe! Shut up. I mean, it’s just…an old-fashioned smell. Something you wouldn’t come across today.”

In dreams, he couldn’t sense it. Sam or Jensen or Cas, none of them were air fresheners like they were in real life.

He closed his eyes. The diner’s lights were white and soft and his angel was watching him, and kissed him.

“Dean.”

“I’m here,” Dean told him.

Wet heat between his legs again and he gasped, rutting into Castiel’s palm. Away from the low touch, he rocked between Cas’ legs, sliding, rubbing, and okay, leaking just a little more than he used to, his precome glossing their cocks, and Cas was letting out huffs of breath and Dean was chasing his lips, licking and nipping. He didn’t quite notice when Cas’ fingers slipped inside of him, used to it. He was so relaxed, so open and trusting, and wanting Cas, always. Sweating, hips jerking and rolling, fucking himself against Castiel, and then onto him.

He felt that.

Dean gasped, a long inhalation of pleasure as Cas mounted him, and he lost his rhythm.

“ _Dean_!” Cas snapped.

Eyes open wide, he came in the dream, hips jerking, stomach muscles clenching, body spitting white ropes of semen onto Cas’ chest.

“Beautiful, Dean, perfect. Come for me.”

Splayed out beneath Castiel on the motel bed, Dean woke up, his dream orgasm making him dizzy, had him clutching the sheets. Cas’ body was twisted to one side, watching where they were joined, one of Dean’s knees crooked in his arm. His other hand was wrapped around Dean’s cock, stroking it out of time with his thrusts into him.

“God, Cas…”

Castiel lifted his head at that, his eyes blazing, and a delicious ribbon of terror knotted around Dean’s throat like it did every time Cas’ true form showed through the cracks. He came again, for real.

 _Crucified_ was how he felt, the vision he got, the image Castiel shared with him. Arms thrown out, palms down flat and pressing hard, a back-breaking arch and a loud wail that sounded like pain to anyone else who was awake to hear it in the motel’s other rooms, and Castiel had Dean undone, had him writhing, and he let himself be dragged down and wrapped around so he could barely move, but Cas didn’t have to find his own release. It was enough to simply be this close to Dean, to be inside him once again.

He didn’t need to have an orgasm, but he understood it was what Dean wanted, and he carefully timed it to just when Dean had had enough. Cas never made him say so, never wanted Dean to feel helpless or small, so he came just as Dean opened his mouth to bite, to drag his teeth over Castiel’s flesh in an outburst of sensation so close to agony Dean wanted it to stop, _needed_ it to. But he didn’t leave anything of himself in Dean. It was Grace he flooded his lover with, just enough of it to make Dean gasp again and sigh, press the back of his hand against his mouth and look up at Castiel with awe on his face.

“Gilliflower,” Cas said a while later. Dean was flipping through the channels, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, eating a day-old donut.

“What’s that?”

“What you think I smell like. A type of carnation that was used as currency during the middle ages.”

“Readin’ my mind again, huh? Hey, wanna go to Mississippi?”

“What’s in Mississippi?”

“A riverboat. Let’s take a cruise.”

“What about—”

“Sam doesn’t need my help right now. Bobby and him can take out the vamp nest easy enough. Besides, there’s always something going on in the South. Hoodoo, voodoo, giant catfish, we’ll find something to hunt. I wanna take you somewhere. Just us. A big, long date.”

“Okay, Dean.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Their first real date, and once they’re there, Dean kept the conversation away from what happened to him in the last year and some. Only two months had gone by for Sam and Cas, but it had been a much longer journey for Dean.

He’d told Cas so much. He’d meant to reveal everything. Fully intended to. He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t let them talk about _their_ past, either.

“There ain’t no do-overs, so why bother? We’re right here, right now; let’s just do _this_ , huh? No reminiscing, no planning for the future. Just look at the river with me. Eat some crawfish. Well, you can watch me eat, though you should or people’re gonna think it’s weird, you here for a week and not seeing you eat anything.”

“I will, if you want.”

“I want. Drink with me, too.”

They drank. Castiel discovered he enjoyed the flavour of expensive gin, though he insisted it was the texture he liked.

“Each molecule is like a shard of crystal, and it’s very interesting how they tinkle against each other on the sides of my tongue.”

“‘Tinkle’, Cas?”

“Yes. There is no noise, however.”

Dean laughed. He laughed again when Cas saw the crawfish and refused pointedly to eat them.

“No. They’re aquatic insects, Dean.”

“They’re not bugs, you big baby. Fine. Eat your pecan pie, or I will.”

They went southern gothic, as Dean coined it; rising in time to see the sunset, staying up all night to watch the stars and gamble and drink and see the sun come up again before retiring to their room on the huge paddlewheeler just as most of the guests were rousing again. They fucked and watched movies and Dean got extra blankets from room service and secured them over the glass doors that led out to the private balcony and the window to darken the room so he could sleep through the rest of the day and he was going to pay for another week when, on the second to last day of their trip, he noticed an article online about a man who’d gone squirrel hunting, been lost over night, and then returned to his family, only to kill them all—wife, sister-in-law, and two adolescent boys—the next day, before killing himself. ‘Family man’, ‘churchgoer’, and ‘Choctaw native’ were the terms that peaked Dean’s interest.

“And I know this guy,” Dean explained to Cas. “Or, knew him—of him, anyway. A hunter, too. Dad helped him out a few times. Never met him; real private type, I guess, but Dad said he hunted things from his tribal lore, specifically. Something gets a hunter, a family man, to do something like this? Gotta check it out. You don’t need to come with—”

“Of course I will accompany you.”

Dean grinned.

In the end, if Cas hadn’t been there, Dean didn’t think he’d have made it out unscathed. They’d questioned the only two friends the dead hunter had and retraced his route through the dank Mississippi run-off swamp to a hunting-hide the man was known to frequent. Dean shivered.

“It’s not cold,” Castiel observed.

“I’m not. It’s just…sort of _ick_ here, dontcha think?”

“Define ‘ick’.”

Dean waved him off and paced the surrounding area.

“Looks like something was stalking him,” he called from a dozen yards out amongst the cypress.

“There were no shots fired, you said?”

“Right. Snuck up on him, probably. Weird. There’s all these reeds pressed down, like something slithered along. Somethin’ big, like, me-sized.”

“Where does the track originate?” asked Castiel, still standing near the hide. He could just see Dean in the gloaming as the hunter searched around for something to throw. He tossed a rock out into the trees and there was a splash.

“From out there in the swamp, I guess? I ain’t— _oh what the fuck_!”

“Dean?” Cas called out, but the word was drowned in gunfire. Dean was tumbling through the grass towards him, leaping roots and splashing, firing haphazardly behind him at something dark and long and fast and _sinister_. Castiel could feel its energy, a sort of tingling at the edge of his senses, crawling-legs of hatred he wanted to brush away, tendrils of fear curling around him like smoke, and he was on the periphery of it. Dean was the target. He nearly crashed into Cas, looking behind him at the oncoming creature instead of where he was going, but Cas kept them from going down. Even through his jacket, Dean was ice-cold and shaking hard. Gun in both hands, he fired at the creature again and somehow managed to hit it despite fear-rattled aim. There was a hiss, loud enough it hurt even Cas’ ears, and the creature flopped over, writhing like a snake, and then it _stood up_.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh fuck,” Dean babbled and fired off two more rounds, hitting the thing in the chest with silver bullets. It kept coming, striding forward and Cas could see that it was almost flickering. There was a light emanating from within, visible through its skin which was fluttering around the creature’s shape as if it were trying to shake off its form. It was tall, probably standing eight feet high, and black, covered in coarse hair, with small, bright eyes and little pointed ears. Its face was almost snake-like, though, and Castiel wanted to step back from it when its pin-point gaze locked on him.

“Shoot it again, Dean!” he said instead, guessing the silver was keeping it from shedding its current shape in favour of one more difficult to target.

Dean wasn’t listening, however. He stepped into Cas, his back pressing against him as if Dean wanted to melt into him, to hide inside him. The gun fell, thudding into the mud at their feet, and then Dean followed it down. Crouched in front of Castiel, Dean curled his fingers into the muck and dropped his head, and screamed. The sound was pure terror, child-like and high-pitched, and ten feet away now, the monster honed in on the sound, and _shifted_. Not out of its shape; it added to it, spines suddenly protruding from its chest in a long row from sternum to groin, and Cas had a vague notion about how it was going to use those spines on Dean if it could.

The gun was in his hand instantly, and Cas fired, emptying the clip. The monster shrilled again and Dean shrieked, but the thing went down this time, thrashing around and then both Dean and it were screaming.

The fear was something palpable in the air, a metallic tang in Castiel’s nostrils, and if Dean kept screaming like that he was going to have to heal his vocal cords when this was over. The monster was clawing and cleaving the ground, sending up clods of muck, and it was heaving itself perilously closer to them. Cas jammed his hands into Dean’s pockets, searching for and coming up with the bottle of lighter fluid he’d seen Dean stash earlier.

Dodging whipping extremities, he got as close as he could and started spraying. Dean’s lighter was forfeit, tossed at the creature once the bottle was empty, and Cas turned and crouched in front of Dean, shielding him from the initial blast of heat as the thing caught fire, and if he hadn’t been right there, Dean would’ve gotten a face full of Mississippi mud when he fainted. Cas dragged him away from the flaming, writhing, squealing thing, towards the hide, and he let Dean’s limp form down inside of it, huddling in the opening as he watched the monster burn.

“Cas?”

It was dark, full night, and Cas had been listening to the astounding array of animal noises echoing through the swamp. Once the monster had succumbed to the flames, had crumbled into a misshapen, glittering-ashed corpse, the forest had come alive in celebration.

“Yes, Dean. Are you alright?”

“Fuck, I dunno. I guess? What happened? God, what’s that smell?”

“The creature, I imagine.”

Dean pushed himself up hastily. “Is it—what—where—”

“It’s dead. We killed it.”

“We did? You did? Lemme outta here, huh?”

Surveying the charred remains, Dean rubbed the back of his head and gave Cas a sheepish smile.

“Uh, damn. Sorry about all that screamin’. I dunno what happened. Just hit me all of a sudden, this, like,” he stopped and the smile became a grin, white teeth flashing in the gloom, “I got _the fear_. We’re so watching that when we get back.”

“Watching what?”

“Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas!”

“Is it a horror movie?”

“Sort of. Come on, killer. Help me crunch this gross-ass thing into dust and then hit the road.”

Outside of St. Louis, they stopped to stretch their legs. Still following the Mississippi north, Dean wanted to walk along the banks of the slow-moving river one more time, and that’s when his phone rang. He let go of Cas’ fingers and fished the cell out. He glanced at the number and, taking a deep breath to steady himself, he said, “Hey.”

“Dee? You listen to me good, alright? This is _bullshit_ —”

“Jensen? What the hell, man?”

“Nope, shut your trap, son. You and your dumbass brother got Jenny all exhausted with your pity-party and he’s got bigger things—”

“Okay, wait a minute, Ellen—” and damn, it was still weird to say her name while talking to the omega “—where’s Sam? Is something going on?”

“Damn right there is! You and him! You two feeble-headed—wait, damn it!”

Dean heard Sam’s muffled voice and Jensen’s shrill answer and the phone _thnnnd_ in his ear.

“Hello? Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam. Hey,” he said again.

“Sorry, um, hold on. Jen— _Ellen_. Just go outside and smoke a fucking cigarette or something!”

There was another scuffling sound and Dean had the impression Sam was holding the phone up high, out of Jensen’s reach, but he heard the reply.

“Oh, that’s real smart. The skull on you, boy—”

“Shit!” Sam barked. The phone clattered in Dean’s ear and he heard a clunk and thuds for a minute before Sam returned.

“You still there? Sorry. Jensen fainted. You know how he does, after. Had to catch him.”

“He been doing that a lot lately?”

“No, something’s just bothering him today, I dunno what. So, you on a case down there?”

“Nah.”

“Oh.”

“Well, I rustled one up. A nalusa falaya, some kinda Choctaw fear-demon. Took care of it,” he said, winking at Cas. “Everything alright your way? That vamp nest?”

“Yeah, yeah, things are good. We’re going out just before dawn. You gonna make it?”

“Nope. But you can potty all by yourself now, you should be fine.”

“Dude. What about Cas? This stuff about Crowley we’ve been hearing—”

“Why don’t you call him yourself, huh? It’s not like he lives in my ass.”

“Uh. Whatever, Dean. I’ll see you whenever, then. Tell Cas I said hi.”

The phone went dead. Dean held it to his ear and closed his eyes, wishing he’d said everything differently. Castiel was watching him when he pocketed the phone and turned, seeking Cas’ hand again, wanting to go back to the moment, to just the two of them. Cas had his hands hidden in his trench coat sleeves.

“What’s that look for? You wanted to talk to Sam or somethin’?”

“You’ve avoided it long enough, Dean.”

“What?”

“Whatever has happened to you and Sam.”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I want you to. As a matter of fact, I insist.”

“Oh, what, gonna get all Alpha on me now?”

“No. You said I am not like Sam.”

“Sam’s not…that, either.”

Castiel sighed. “I’m sorry, Dean. You’re right. And I don’t mean to be demanding. But it isn’t healthy the way you two are acting towards each other.”

Cas couldn’t follow the rapid distortion of Dean’s face well enough to understand all the emotions that dog-piled across it, but the tenuously caged hysteria in his voice, teeth clenched around the words, spoke of a raw wound, of the kind of pain Castiel’s Grace leapt to heal. But like so many of Dean’s wounds, this was psychological, and Cas could only hear it, nothing more.

“You wanna talk about not healthy, huh? How about Sam wanting to fuck me? How about _that_ for unhealthy?”

Cas blinked. “Is that what’s happened?”

“Is, was, and happened,” Dean snarled, then he blushed scarlet and wheeled around, storming off down the rocky beach towards the Impala. Castiel watched him go, head cocked, thinking.

“Uff, Cas, don’t _do_ that,” Dean grunted, boots skidding as he barely kept from colliding with Castiel when he appeared in front of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had relations with Sam?”

“Relations?” Dean’s voice was tight and the blush was back, so hot it almost hurt his skin. “It wasn’t—I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean, okay? _Relations_? He fucked me when I was in heat, that’s all. I couldn’t fucking help it! Him and that little shit Jensen, they ganged up on me—”

“They raped you?”

“What, no! I mean, no, no, I just, I—it’s not like I didn’t want… Wanted…something. I don’t know. Fuck, Cas! I was all messed up; you know that, you were there. The heat, when it started it was awful and I just needed something, and Sam—”

“Is that the only reason you had relations with me the first time, as well? The heat drove you to it?”

“Jesus, stop saying _relations_. Sound like a preacher or something. And _no_ , retard, it’s not why I wanted—want you. Don’t you know that? And you were all hot and bothered by me, anyway, so I could ask you the same thing. And get in the freakin’ car. We’re so not having this conversation out here.”

The doors squeaked and slammed, the engine roared, and Motorhead played automatically and the cacophony was more soothing than the riot inside Dean’s head. He glared when Castiel turned the volume down. He turned it back up.

“I cannot say I was unaffected by your physical predicament,” Cas said, and Dean was pretty sure the angel mojoed the volume down a hair. He gritted his teeth and steered west, away from the river, as Cas kept talking. “But your heat did not do to me what it did to Sam, I think. What Jensen’s had done to Sam, as well. I was not disturbed hormonally—”

“Ah, man—”

“You asked, Dean. Let me finish. It wasn’t some uncontrollable lust I felt towards you, or towards Sam. It was more the way both of you acted while under the influence, so to speak. Your brother seemed so incredibly powerful. Dominant. He still does, but I have gotten used to it. His presence is more commanding. In a way, it is reminiscent of him being soulless, only more appealing because there is that wonderful humanness behind it.”

“Wonderful? Cas—”

“And you—” Cas interrupted.

“I know,” Dean shot back, “‘vulnerable’. My guardian angel, huh?”

“I would like to think so. It’s not that what becoming an omega did to you _wasn’t_ appealing, but it is not why I want to be with you.”

Castiel frowned and he faced Dean, and the intensity in his eyes made Dean blink away, back through the windshield. He urged Baby forward, wondering how many light changes they’d sat through. Cas wasn’t done, though.

“I have often wondered if I was simply made to be with you, Dean.”

Dean sputtered and they both rocked on the seat when he accidentally stomped down the gas pedal.

“Yes,” said Cas, almost to himself, “I think that is the way of it. What happened to you as an omega may have been a catalyst that allowed you to be with me intimately when you otherwise might not have been willing, but I am bound to you. I am supposed to be here for you. With you.”

“Uh, well, you’re probably right. About the jump-start, anyway. As for being…made for me… Do you really think so? I mean, like, that… _God_ wants us together?”

Castiel didn’t answer, and Dean didn’t press him, way too much implication, and possibly even responsibility, lurking there.

But there was still this…thing, this _Sam_ thing.

“Does it make a difference?” he asked in the silence between _Damage Case_ and _Tear Ya Down._

“That you had—that you were _fucked_ by your brother?”

“Gah, don’t say it like that, either! Just—oh, whatever. Yeah.”

“Does it make a difference…to me?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you know…me and you.”

“As I told Sam, fornication amongst the angels was once a way of celebrating God’s divine love. We are all siblings.”

“Oh. Did…did you? I thought—”

“No. I was made after God punished the Host for transgressions against human-kind. Specifically, Jensen’s kind. I never had the opportunity to show my devotion in that way.”

“So, it’s cool with God if brothers and sisters, uh, do what thou wilt?”

“Concurrent and obsessive inbreeding is bad for the gene pool, but not an abomination in the eyes of God. None of you would be here if that were the case. Occasionally there have been so few people at one time, it was necessary to be incestual for the survival of the species.”

“I wish I was stoned for this.”

“Stoning is a rather harsh punishment for relations between consenting adults.”

“That’s not what I meant, and I told you to stop saying that.”

The tape flipped sides in the deck and _(I Won’t) Pay Your Price_ finished before Castiel spoke again.

“Perhaps you should be with Sam.”

Dean did not steer Baby off into the trees, but his vision went grey at the edges with the way his blood began to pound in his head.

“You pawnin’ me off?” he asked, trying to sound amused. He was anything but.

“Of course not, Dean. I just cannot give you the kind of love that Sam can.”

“What kind is that?” he forced out.

The look Cas gave him made him feel like he was the last in his class. “ _Sam’s_ love. It’s all for his own reasons. It’s special to you and him. We see you differently and love what we see uniquely. I would not want you not to have his particular kind of love.”

“Wow. Okay, Dr. Schlessinger.”

“I don’t know that person. Do your feelings for Sam—”

“I don’t have _feelings_ for him.”

That look again. “Yes, you do, Dean. Does it make the way you feel about me different? Less somehow?”

Dean couldn’t seem to get a decent lungful of air. Open-mouthed, he shook his head.

“Love is the most divine gift God had to give. It was put in each of you, but doing so did not lessen the source. Like lighting one candle with another; the original flame is not diminished. Humans are capable of so much love. Within families, friendships; compassion, sympathy, charity. All manifestations of love and every instance of love is an act of devotion to God. A prayer.”

“O-okay. But—but don’t you, like, don’t you—want, like, just…me? To be with just you? Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”

“Monogamy is a choice, but not the only one, and not always the right one. Love transcends human boundaries of…‘appropriateness’. Besides, you’re not a possession. Not something to own.”

“Tell that to Sam.”

Castiel nodded. “Perhaps I will.”

“No, Cas. I didn’t mean—”

“However, I believe, given time and thought, Sam would understand, as I do, that you would be torn apart by possessive demands and limitations. You desire others to care deeply about you, and we do, but you have to be free to manifest your own love however it suits your nature. Anything less would be counterproductive to your free will.”

“We should be listening to Yanni or something,” Dean said, his voice sounding strained and high in his own ears.

“Your deflection of the situation with humour is noted,” Cas said, smiling at him.

“Wait, you know who Yanni is?”

“Of course. He performed at the Acropolis in Athens.”

“So much nerd in such a little angel.”

“I think I have room for more.”

There was a long moment before Dean realised Cas was still smiling and when he glanced over, Castiel actually winked at him.

“I… Wait, what?”

“I was calling you a nerd, as well, and in a roundabout way asking you to have sex with me. You can, what is the term, ‘top’? Are you uncomfortable with that idea?” Cas asked as the car rolled slowly to a stop, Dean’s body gone suddenly numb.

“I. No, I am not uncomfortable with that. _At all_. I just. You know, thought, didn’t know you…would. Is all.”

An inclination of the raven-dark head was Dean’s only answer, and a horn sounded behind them. Baby leapt down the road after that, and Cas replaced Motorhead with the second side of _The_ _Wall_ , knowing Dean didn’t like to hear certain songs from the first half, and he kept a smile on his lips as they tore through Missouri, chasing the setting sun.

Castiel, bags in hand, waited beside the Impala as Dean checked them in, and when Dean waved him over, followed him into a room. The bags were knocked away and the door was slammed, and Cas found himself on his back within seconds of his boots touching carpet.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean growled, knees digging into Cas’ ribs, hands in his hair, his thumbs sweeping over the pressure points near his ears, behind his jaw, lower, over his throat. “Are you sure you want me to?”

“I’m sure. Don’t you want—”

“Yes. Fuck. Yes.”

Castiel closed his eyes as Dean slid off of him and knelt, going for Cas’ shoes. He could just will all their clothing away with a thought, but he had the feeling Dean needed this, that this ceremonial undressing was important to him. Shoes and socks were removed from them both, and then it was as if Dean couldn’t decide what part of Cas he wanted to see first. His tie was loosened and the first few buttons of his shirt undone. Eyes still closed, Cas heard Dean’s jacket and flannel hit the floor, then his hands were back, opening Cas’ slacks. They were tugged down his hips, briefs snagged in Dean’s fingers as well, but Dean pressed him back down when he lifted his hips to help. His shirt was pushed up and Dean’s lips were there, his tongue out, lapping, teeth scraping, breath gulping in as Dean swallowed and bit and breathed him in.

“Angel. Cas, God, so fuckin’ hot. Love this, seein’ you. A prayer, huh? God’s gonna hear me fuck you? Wants me to?”

Castiel could hear the incredulity in Dean’s voice, and it was messy with lust and recklessness and the angel knew if he wasn’t completely fallen yet, this would do it. “Yes. And I want it.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to fuck me, Dean. I want to feel you inside me. I’ve had your tongue in my mouth. I have had your knife in my chest—”

“Christ.”

Dean surged up Castiel’s body and there were teeth at his throat now, biting down and sucking. His tie burned his neck as Dean jerked it free. His shirt was ruined, ripped open, and he gasped into Dean’s open mouth when fingers dug into his ribs with bruising force. Hips ground down, buttons and bones hurting, and Cas let him do it.

“Whatever you want to do, Dean. I am yours. Made for you.”

He wasn’t, though. Dean knew that. At least, this body wasn’t. This was a stranger’s body. Jimmy Novak. He’d given himself to Castiel, would have died otherwise, and was that enough for Dean, that the man had submitted to an eternity strapped to a small sun, riding a comet, a falling star? Castiel’s true form would burn Dean alive, would blow out his eyes and ears, rupture his heart. Not too different from how he felt now, and Jimmy Novak was dead. In every other reality, Jimmy was doomed and dead and dying. But here, he was sanctified and preserved and purified, disguising an angel, and it was Castiel animating him, moving the body in a way that was uniquely his own. And _that_ was enough for Dean.

“Never did much praying before you,” he said, holding Castiel’s face to one side, exposing ear and cheek and throat. “God can hear me now?”

Cas nodded, and Dean could see a sliver of blue between the black lashes, dawn pushing at a night too long.

“I want to break God’s creation. Want to take you apart, Cas. Always wanted to, since that fucking knife in your chest. The best prayer I can make up; fucking you. Want you to love me, angel. I don’t care if God does. You do, it’ll be enough. My selfish prayer, an angel of the Lord to be mine.”

“Then do it.”

He was jerked down, off the bed, onto his knees, and Dean covered him, forcing him forward over the edge of the mattress when he didn’t move fast enough. Dean’s knuckles banged into his back, his nails pilled blood along Castiel’s thighs as Dean yanked at the remaining clothing between them, and then he was kissing Cas’ flesh, licking deep between his legs, his tongue pushing against the ring of Cas’ asshole. It opened easily because Cas wanted it to, and Dean hummed his pleasure and pushed harder, slipping inside Cas eagerly. Fingers joined the tongue, spreading, tickling, rubbing spit-slick circles, and then delving deeper, two at a time and when Castiel groaned, his fists curling into the bedspread, Dean used both hands, two fingers each, pulling at Cas, spitting and licking, laughing.

“Never done this before?” Dean asked again.

“No, Dean.”

“On my knees at the altar,” came the awed, nonsensical reply. Dean’s hands gripped his hips a second later and Dean let his weight down slowly, cock first, drizzling precome, adding to the wet mess his mouth had made, and it was easy. Sliding inside was Heaven— _where’s Sam?—_ the way Castiel moaned loudly and tried to move, to shift up on his toes and buck, the desperate action burying Dean to the hilt inside him, was the purest sin. Dean’s forehead dropped to the back of Cas’ neck and the rest was mindless motion, scratching at a half-healed wound, lust and veneration and it felt so, so fucking good, Dean couldn’t think past the pleasure.

Castiel fought his hold, twisting and thrashing until he had Dean by the hair, had his lips and his tongue and Dean tried, he really did, but Cas wrapped tight around his cock, fucking Cas and having him force Dean’s movements at the same time, claiming and being owned, it was perfect, and too much. He jerked back a little, pulling out and spitting come against Castiel’s twitching hole, for all his blasphemous words and thoughts, unwilling to mark the angel inside. Unworthy.

Castiel’s hand tightened in his hair and somehow Cas was over him. Dean could barely see, didn’t know how it happened, but Cas threw him down, straddled him, and then had Dean’s face in his hands, fingertips in his cheeks forcing his teeth apart, making Dean yelp.

“You’re mine, Dean,” Castiel said, sinking himself back down onto Dean’s still-hard cock. “You belong to me. I love you. I saved you, I rebuilt your perfect soul, I ripped you out of Hell. Sacrificed everything I am, and you will give me everything you are.”

Dean could see now, and Castiel’s eyes were flaring, lightning-bright, and his flesh had gone cold and hard around Dean, like a living statue and Dean was suddenly terrified, and he cried out again when the angel’s Grace punched into him. It hurt this time, unlike anything he’d felt before. It had always been a wing-brush, a warm breeze, a shiver tingling through him, trailing surcease and calm. Now, this; it was a blow. Heavy, thick, and fiery, a tentacle lashing inside of Dean, multiplying, spreading out from the center of his chest through to every last corner of his body, and Castiel was penetrating him everywhere. Pushing, the tentacle found its way to Dean’s cock and filled it, kept him hard, kept him inside and Cas moved, fucking himself.

Inside, around, and through everything Dean was, every molecule of him, he felt Cas there, as if he was being dissolved and swallowed and he screamed. Couldn’t hear himself, tried to move but Cas had him pinned, touching him only where Dean was still hard inside of him, where Cas was keeping him hard. The tendrils, grasping and greedy, slipped around his prostate, milked him, made him come again, and he screamed again, but Cas was in his throat as well and made him form the sound of Castiel’s name. There was a pain in his chest, sharp and agonising as Cas forced his heart into beating with his own, killed him for a second to get the timing right, and there was a ripping sensation.

Nothing was left of Dean inside his own body after that; even his soul was Castiel’s, was in his luminous hands, such a small thing and Cas was so big, everywhere, everything, and Dean was nothing but what Castiel made real for him with his touch, his Grace, his love, and Dean wasn’t sure if he blacked out or if Cas blinded him, but when he awoke it was morning and he was alone.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hello?”

“Thmmph.”

“Dean? _Hey_!”

“Guh. Don’t. Please, do not yell.”

“You’re okay?”

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean responded. “Why wouldn’t—oh, jesus.”

“Are you okay?”

“I _said_ yeah. I just woke up. Gimme a second.”

Sam heard the phone fall to the bed and rustling sounds as Dean situated himself and took stock. Sam knew what he was doing, had seen it a thousand times. His heart was still hammering, anyway.

Castiel had looked like a feral animal, had smelled wrong, and Dean’s scent on him had mixed alarmingly with the angel’s. Pain and… _ecstasy_. Sam knew that’s what it was, had had his mouth filled with it before, but there had been something…bad about the way it had clung to Castiel, as if his brother’s pleasure had been stirred into Castiel’s with the blade of a knife.

Cas had been dripping with Dean’s pheromones, a burnt-sugar reek of suffering and sex, and Sam had wanted to wash it off Cas with his tongue, wanted to shake him and threaten him, demand to know how he’d hurt Dean and why, but everything happened so quickly all Sam could do was stumble out of the basement and punch his brother’s number into his phone with shaking fingers, half-convinced Dean was dead wherever Castiel had left him.

“You there?”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed out, closing his eyes, trying to steady himself.

“Are _you_ okay? What’s the fucking deal?”

“Dean. Yes. I’m fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Where’s Cas?”

“Uh. Fuck if I know, actually. He was here. At least, last night. I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Are you okay?”

“Dude, stop asking me that. _Why_ are you asking me that? Do _you_ know where Cas is?”

“I saw him. Me and Bobby. Just a minute ago. He—he wasn’t himself. I don’t know. There was something weird, something wrong. Dean, he killed Lenore.”

“Who? Wait, that vamp girl we saved from Gordon?”

“Yeah. We started to clear the nest, except they…they weren’t fighting back. They scattered. Ran. They—I don’t think they’d been feeding on humans. Lenore was there and she was, fuck, she was terrified. She started to talk to us, said something about recruiting souls, I dunno? Killing monsters so they’d go to Purgatory. She said ‘they’ were gathering souls. She said Crowley was after them, and then Cas just popped up behind her and fucking fried her. She didn’t _do_ anything, Dean. She wasn’t trying to hurt us, and Cas killed her.”

“Shit. Well, maybe he thought he was helping. You know he’s kind of bad at that sometimes.”

“But he looked…pissed off. I guess? Actually, he looked scared. Bobby…he thinks Cas stopped her from saying something he didn’t want us to hear.”

Dean was silent for a few seconds, and Sam knew he was angry at where this was going.

“Dean, Bobby said maybe Cas is working with Crowley.”

“Why _the fuck_ would he be doing that, huh, Sam?”

“I don’t know, and he didn’t stick around long enough for us to ask him, either.”

“What’d he say? Did he _say_ anything?”

“Not really. I just got a bad feeling about it. About him. I was worried about you,” he finished reluctantly.

“Well, don’t be. And Cas is not working with Crowley, I can guarantee that.”

“How, exactly?”

“You know what, Sam? This—just, never mind. I’ll ask him, okay? Will that make you and Bobby feel better?”

“You think he’d tell you if he was?”

There was a pause, and Sam knew Dean hadn’t considered Cas would do anything but tell him the truth.

“I gotta go,” was the reply Sam got.

“Wait! Dean. Come meet us. Will you just do that? We can figure this all out. Together: me, you, and Bobby.”

“Fine. Okay. I’ll be there. Have beer.”

The line went dead.

“Well, this ain’t gonna be pretty,” Bobby grumbled when Sam told him Dean was on his way.

Whatever was going on, there was definitely evidence that the King of Hell was up to no good, more so than usual. Monsters were on the run or fighting like cornered animals, demons were snidely dropping hints that Crowley had some catastrophic design planned and the civil war between the angels was working to his advantage.

Bobby called Dean an hour later and Sam left the room as the argument started, as Bobby tried to convince Dean to avoid Cas in the meantime, or at least lie to him, keep plans and suspicions between the three of them until they knew for sure Castiel wasn’t relaying everything right back to Crowley.

Dean looked better than Sam expected him to. He didn’t know what he had expected, really. It had been several weeks since he’d seen his brother, and Castiel had scared him, made Sam think when he saw Dean he’d look drained, like something Castiel had been feeding on, drawing energy from. It was absurd, he knew. Cas would never hurt Dean. He was almost sure of it. Still, he wanted to hug Dean when he came up behind him in Bobby’s house, but the way Dean stopped short when their eyes met, the way he kept one foot back like he would turn and run if Sam came too near, kept him at bay. A tilt of his head as an invitation was all he got and Sam followed Dean into another room, leaving Bobby with Ruby’s knife and a demon tied to a chair. Screams followed him.

In the kitchen, Dean folded his arms, tucking his hands away, his eyes on the floor. Sam mimicked his posture, making himself as small as he could, and kept his voice even, breathing carefully, trying not to make Dean more nervous than he already was.

“So what’d you tell him?”

“Nothing,” Dean said, jaw tight. “Just relax.” His eyes almost made it up to Sam’s face and he swayed a little, as if he wanted to move even further away from Sam, but he held his ground. But when Bobby joined them, Dean couldn’t keep his irritation from surfacing.

“He’s our _friend_ ,” Dean spit. _I love him. He saved me_ , Sam heard, scented on him, smoke threatening a blaze just under Dean’s skin.

“Dean—” he tried, but his brother snapped at him, defensive.

Dean was trying to listen, he really was, trying to think clearly and logically about the things Bobby was saying, the evidence and possibilities, but it was tearing him apart inside, that much was obvious to Sam. Bobby managed to keep him focused, moved the accusations away from Castiel and onto Crowley, but it was only a weak diversion, a temporary one.

The demon in the other room wouldn’t give them Crowley directly, but he gave them a direction to go in.

The distance Dean kept between their bodies while they tracked down the next demon made Sam feel like his own skin was ripping, that he was pulling apart a half-healed wound over and over again, but he was determined. If this was the way Dean wanted it, if this was what it took to even be in the same room for any length of time, for Dean to let him ride shotgun as they followed Crowley’s trail, then he’d keep his body on his side of the invisible line. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut, though. He had to have something, even if it was Dean’s reluctant, bitten off replies.

“Why’d you call me Lois Lane back there?” Sam asked, watching the Impala’s wipers slash at the gold morning sun.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Something Cas said—just. Nothin’.”

“Does that mean you’re Jimmy Olsen?”

Dean scoffed and shook his head. “How’s Jens?”

“Uh. Good. I mean, he’s been sick, actually—”

“What? Really? Like, up here?” Dean asked, twirling his finger by his temple, more concern in his voice than Sam would have guessed.

“No. The flu or something. For a couple of weeks at least, on and off.”

“Well, you know what always helped me.”

“Yeah, you got a stash?”

“Some in the back, remind me when we stop.”

“Thanks. He, uh. He says hi. Always does. I know he’d like it if you came by.”

“Uh huh. Where’s Bobby _going_? This is gonna turn into a dirt road any second now…”

It didn’t, but it took more than an hour traversing unlined lanes once they were off the interstate to find Ellsworth’s house. The demon was gone. Everything was gone. Dusted and swept and mopped practically, but nothing could get the faint rotten egg stench of dead demon out of the air, and when Bobby said that place was too clean, they all knew he meant it was angel-clean.

Dean begged patience and leniency. His voice was calm, but his face was all panic and denial, and Sam knew Dean was starting to doubt Cas as much as they were. The evidence was there, undeniable, that Cas had at least messed up big time. He was supposed to have killed Crowley, burned his bones, but the monsters were name dropping left and right and then this thing with Lenore, and Cas didn’t show when Sam prayed. Dean followed suit, and still nothing, and that broke Sam’s heart. He instinctively reached out and patted Dean’s arm. Dean looked at him blankly, unmoving as Sam spoke, as he tried to focus for the both of them, to keep Dean from falling apart.

When three demons attacked literally out of thin air it took them all by surprise, and from his view on the floor, Sam saw Dean with a bloody mouth, still looking blank, still unresponsive even as a demon with Crowley’s name on his lips prepared to kill him. The blinding light of Castiel smiting it was the only thing Dean reacted to, at the last second turning his face from the blaze.

Cas saved them all in turn and stood before them, docile, a creature of God, a holy soldier, their friend and often times saviour, and for a brief moment they were Team Free Will again and Sam had never been so happy to be wrong.

It was a very brief moment.

Twenty seconds after each of them had offered an apology of sorts to Cas for thinking he was tied up in Crowley’s business, Cas slipped. Sam didn’t catch it right away, but what he saw was Dean’s face crumble and the flame of rage and betrayal in the ruins.

His brother might as well have been standing in coals the way his scent shifted to match how he felt when Cas revealed by accident that he’d been spying on them; that he’d ignored their prayers on purpose, that he already knew Crowley was alive, and that he was very aware they were on his trail. How Castiel was oblivious to the murderous look in Dean’s eyes Sam couldn’t figure out, but then, Cas was oblivious to a lot of human emotions.

Sam wasn’t oblivious, though. He stayed at Dean’s side after Cas said he was needed in Heaven, probably lying about it. Bobby paced and fumed, Sam fidgeted, but Dean was silent. He stood in the same spot for ten minutes, and when he finally moved it was with such suddenness and force Bobby stumbled over his words and Sam jumped, startled.

He followed Dean a few steps, automatically, not wanting Dean to disappear, to try to fix this himself somehow. He knew Dean had been thinking just that. Staring at the spot his angel had occupied, Dean had been figuring out how to take this all on his own shoulders, as if it was his fault Castiel had chosen to side with Hell. But Dean only went to the desk, and the first drawer he opened gave up its contents with a clink.

“Same place you keep your whiskey,” he said to Bobby, waving the bottle. “Bettin’ the glasses are in the same place, too.”

Bobby nodded and went to the kitchen in search. Dean unscrewed the cap and upended the bottle into his mouth, keeping his lips from the neck.

“What?” he asked, hissing fumes between his teeth.

“That your plan? Get drunk?” Sam said, incredulous.

“No. God, can’t you not be pissy for one second, ever? Just fucking bear with me, okay?” He took another drink, eyes squeezing shut as if he were in pain. He was, Sam knew, and was sorry he’d said anything. “ _Goddammit_ , Sam. Did you fucking _hear him_?”

“Yeah…”

“Why the _fuck_?”

“I…I can’t imagine, to be honest. Seems harebrained, even for him and Crowley.”

Bobby came back, three greasy glasses in hand. He eyed Dean warily.

“I’m _fine_.”

“Yeah. Sure. Well, I’m not supposing you heard anything I said, but what do you think about what I said?”

“Run it by me one more time,” Dean said, pouring for them. “No, wait.” He went back into the drawer and came up with a piece of soapstone. “Anti-angel,” he mumbled, dropping it into Sam’s palm.

They raised glasses after Sam had drawn the sigil that would keep Cas from eavesdropping on them, and Bobby laid out his idea one more time.

It was a good plan, but it was horrible. Dean, literally, couldn’t stand it. He shuffled over to a tattered club chair and sank into it, taking the bottle with him.

“Supervising,” he said, the word coming out just a little slurred. Sam knew his brother wasn’t drunk, not yet. It was shock. Dean shivered and hunched over, and Sam and Bobby looked at each other silently.

“Dean, keep an eye out in here,” Bobby said. Dean didn’t didn’t respond, but he watched them drag the meatsuits the demons had been wearing out through the back of the house.

“One shovel, one hole,” the old hunter proclaimed, and tossed the tool at Sam. “You go first.”

The sun was almost down and they’d taken their time digging the hole, working in shifts. When it was his turn to rest, Sam had peered in the window to check on his brother. Dean had moved only to lean back in the chair. His eyes were closed and his hand was hovering near his cheek. Sam had seen him wipe it over his face a couple of times already.

“He gonna be okay?” Bobby asked after a while.

“He has to be, doesn’t he,” Sam replied tonelessly.

Bobby threw down the shovel. “No, actually, he don’t. That’s what I’m worried about. Ya’ll been through a lot, and I’ve wondered for a while when it’s gonna hit the ‘too much’ mark. Think he’s there yet?”

“Dunno, Bobby. I hope not. This is big, though. Him and Cas… I don’t know if he can lose him.”

“Hell,” Bobby grunted, shoving the second body into the hole onto the first already there, “hopefully, we won’t lose the idjit. _Hopefully_ , Cas is just off course and not off the reservation.”

It was too much to hope for. Dean still wasn’t standing, he was still drinking. When they were ready, when they’d set up their ruse and poured the oil and collected their props, Sam nodded at Dean as Bobby poured him another fingerful of booze, and Dean, white-faced, bent his head and called out to Castiel.

Cas appeared and Sam wished he hadn’t. Wished Cas had ignored them and that would have forced them to find another way. But, while they might have found Crowley with a different plan, they had to deal with Cas eventually, and after another glance at Dean’s face, at the betrayal and hurt evident there, it was better now than later.

It was only with fire in his eyes that Dean finally found his feet, using his anger to stiffen his spine and steady his legs. Cas was ringed with it, trapped, to be used as bait to pull Crowley out of his iniquitous den, but first:

“Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not working with Crowley.” It came out a plea, a heartfelt _I-will-believe-you-I-swear_ entreaty.

On the other side of the fire circle, the angel between them, Dean’s eyes flickering, reflecting the gold chaos of the flames, Sam saw all their hopes crushed when Cas looked away from Dean and said nothing.

“This whole time…” Dean said, as if the words were bile.

But Castiel, like the child Dean so often chastised him as, refused to admit he was doing wrong. He was trying to protect them, he insisted, from Raphael, the human-hating angel who wanted to rule at any cost, who wanted to take over Heaven and start Armageddon all over again.

“Please, you have to trust me!” Cas implored, but Dean wasn’t going to be swayed by begging.

Sam trusted Castiel. Even when Castiel revealed moments later that it was he who had dragged Sam from The Cage, out from under Lucifer’s heel, and even though it had left Sam bisected, severed soul from body, mind from heart, Sam _did_ still trust him. He _had_ to. He had to believe that someone who had sacrificed so much, had bled for the Winchesters so many times, was good. They’d all fucked up, done the wrong things. How could he damn an angel after the things he himself had done?

“When crap like this comes around, we deal with it… Like we always have. What we don’t do is we don’t go out and make another deal with the Devil!” Dean scolded, moving ever-closer to Castiel despite the mystical fire between them.

“It sounds so simple when you say it like that. But you weren’t here when I needed to hear it.”

Dean cocked his head. “How do you figure?”

“I went to Crowley for help, to get you back from that other place. He wanted me to leave you there, but I struck a deal with him. I’d help him find and open Purgatory, and he gave me help to get you home.”

Dean’s eyes jerked away and he seemed to want to look behind him, maybe wondering how far away the chair was.

“Cas,” Sam said, pulling their attention to him, “we could have found another way—”

“No, Sam, you couldn’t,” Cas interrupted. “You weren’t going to save your brother on your own. You needed me, and Dean wouldn’t be here otherwise. Neither of you would be here.”

“Cas, shut the fuck up,” Dean snarled.

“You told me—” Sam persisted, knowing what Cas told him had been a lie, still not wanting to believe it.

“Sam,” Dean said, a weariness to his voice that matched his heavy-lidded eyes as he watched Cas, looking at him like he’d wished he’d never met him in the first place. As if Hell were preferable to the pain he felt now. Sam hadn’t been able to save Dean from Hell, either. “Let it go. He’s made his choice.”

“I can’t turn back now. I can’t,” Cas said. There was a whisper on the air that hissed around the last word from Cas’ mouth, and he looked up in alarm. Dean paced around the edge of the fire as if he wanted to find a way in, a way to pull Cas out, back to him. It only brought him to Sam’s side.

“It’s not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!” Dean tried one last time.

The black cloud was seeking entrance, demon-filled and dangerous, and when Castiel yelled at them to run, they did. Dean held the door, making sure Bobby and Sam both got out. The Impala was mere feet from the porch, and Sam was there first, throwing the driver’s door open for Dean before rounding to the passenger side. Over the roof, he saw Dean pause, still inside the house, looking over his shoulder.

“Dean!” he bellowed, and his brother came, reluctance in every step. It was as if he had to rip himself physically away, and he even stumbled as he neared the car, almost going to his knees, but he caught the door and slung himself into the Impala, the muscles in his jaw jumping, hands choked around the wheel.

They hauled ass away from the house, away from the angel trapped by fire, away from the swarm of demons who, strangely, did not pursue. Not so strange, Sam realised with finality. Their plan had worked, and Crowley had come to rescue Cas.

Dean was silent as they went back the way they’d come and Sam didn’t try to engage him. He tried not to watch him, but he’d never been very good at that. His brother might not be talking out loud, but if the small shakes of his head, the slight tremors that lifted his fingers from the steering wheel, the quiet gasps of air and bitten lips were any indication, he was rethinking a great deal of what, possibly everything, he’d ever said to Castiel.

They were following Bobby’s taillights back to the highway, back toward Sioux Falls, but before they hit the main road, Dean suddenly slammed on the brakes, sending Baby fishtailing onto the shoulder. He barely got the car into park before throwing the door open and stumbling into the night.

“Jesus christ, Dean! Wha—”

A retching sound was the answer Sam got, and instead of going after Dean, he pushed buttons on the car’s stereo. The volume just loud enough to cover the sounds of his brother’s anguish manifesting itself, and, grateful there was always a classic rock station out here slim on commercials this time of night, Sam answered the phone when Bobby called, wondering where the hell they’d got to.

“Yeah, hey, Bobby. No, we’re fine. Dean just, uh, needed a minute. We’ll be right behind you. Hey, can you do me a favour? Yeah,” Sam laughed as Bobby guessed it before he said it. “Thanks. I’ll let him know you’re coming. I just… I don’t know, I feel like we should all—yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

He called Jensen. The phone rang for a while before Jensen picked up, always slow to rouse. While he waited, Dean appeared out of the darkness. He flicked his hand at Sam by way of assurance and Sam felt the car shake as Dean opened the trunk.

“Sam?” Jensen’s drowsy voice was something wonderful in his ear.

“Hey, babe. I’m fine. Sorry to wake you up, but we’re coming home soon. To Bobby’s, anyway, and I want you to be with us. He’s gonna come and get you, okay? I wanted to give you some time to pull yourself together.”

“Yay,” the omega sang sleepily. Sam laughed.

“Hey, don’t go back to sleep.”

“Mm.”

“Jensen, I will pinch you when I see you if Bobby says he had to get you up.”

“Uh! Won’t. Don’t! I’m up. Swear. Love you.”

“You, too. See you soon.”

“And Dean?”

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“Good. Okay. Soon.”

Sam pocketed the phone just as Dean leaned back in the car, blowing a cloud of smoke between pursed lips at Sam. It was fragrant but dense, and Sam coughed.

“Sorry about swerving,” Dean said, sliding back into the driver’s seat. “Here.” He tossed an orange pill bottle into Sam’s lap, dark inside with weed, and a small metal pipe made of—

“What is this?”

Dean smiled, his cheeks full as he swished with water. He spit out of the door, closed it on the chirping crickets in the wheat fields and started the Impala. “Dunno. Little bits I picked up in that mannequin factory. Screen from the facet of the motel. It’ll do, donkey. Didn’t figure you had one.”

“Thanks. You alright to drive?”

“Pff.”

“Oh. Are you alright?”

Dean surprised him by answering honestly. “No.”

“What Cas did—” Sam started.

“Is fucked.”

“No, I mean, he’s right, Dean. He got you and me both out of Hell, saved you from Alastair _twice_. I couldn’t have done it. Without him, I had nothing. No way to get you back, no way to get Jensen home if he’d wanted to go.”

“Maybe. You don’t know that. You said you had a month or so to work on it, and you’re the smartest person I know. I think you could have figured something out.”

“Thanks, but—”

“I’m not mad at you, Sam. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have trusted Cas, no reason to think he was being shifty.”

“You’re still mad.”

“Fuckin’ of course I am. I’ve been with Cas, like right there with him for what, three months now? Granted, I was out of my freakin’ mind for part of it, but the rest… I didn’t know. Or I didn’t want to know.”

“Were there signs?”

“What, like, did he show up with some Hell on the front of his coat?” Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead, leaning his elbow against the window, steering Baby onto the highway with his fist pointing the way. “No,” he said after a while. “Not that I can think of. I wasn’t looking for it, though. I never would…” he trailed off, and Sam let him be.

It was nice, being with Dean. Despite everything, and knowing how upset his brother was, Sam couldn’t help being pleased they were together again. Circumstances were hardly ever good for them. That had no real bearing on his feelings anymore. Actually, the worse things were the better he felt with Dean at his side. Castiel was the one leaving a hollow spot in his life now, and as they slipped through the night towards Bobby’s house, Sam thought back, wondering if _he’d_ missed something along the way. He was sure he must have, but he’d been overwhelmed by so many things in the last five months. Dean disappearing, Jensen in his place. Jensen; crazy, lubricious, sweet Jensen.

Yeah, Sam had been distracted. Dean coming back in heat and the consequences of Sam’s reaction to it, and then surrendering Dean into Castiel’s care, and running instead of holding on to Dean, tooth and nail. Sam might as well have been going around with his head up his ass when it came down to it. Castiel could have walked a woolly mammoth through the room on a leash and Sam wouldn’t have noticed a thing, too preoccupied with having and not having Dean, with Jensen’s heat and scent and mind and his body that was Dean’s body, too—

“Sam.”

“What?” he responded, too fast.

“What,” Dean echoed and shook his head. He cracked his window an inch and leaned as much as he could away from Sam.

He thought about apologising, but that would only make it worse. He was half-hard and sweating under his jacket and if he didn’t focus, Jensen would be all over him in about twenty minutes. Not that Sam minded so much, but for Bobby’s sake, and Dean’s, especially…

“Is it broken? You and Cas,” Sam said when Dean flashed him a confused glance.

“There’s no ‘me and Cas’. Not…anymore. And that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what is it?”

“What? What _what_ it? What the fuck are you getting at?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you two were in for the win, I guess.”

Through his teeth, Dean said, “Just because we were fucking doesn’t mean he gets a free pass to dance with the devil in the pale moonlight, okay? I ain’t gonna forgive this.”

Sam frowned. “Dean, I really think Cas is trying to do what he feels is right. I mean, we know it’s not, but he’s got a very different perspective, being an angel and all.”

“’S no excuse. I was _right there_. He coulda asked, said something, anything, but he knew it was wrong _because_ he didn’t ask. He knew what I would say. What, do you think he’s doing the right thing?”

“Well, no, I just—”

“You gonna help me stop him or not?”

“Of course. I just think—I _don’t_ think he’s the enemy. He’s not bad. I can’t believe he’s doing this out of malice. We gotta do what we gotta do, I know that, but if we can… We should take it easy on him. We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Yeah, we do.” There was nothing but bitterness in his voice, however. “But you said it yourself, you and Bobby. He’s an angel.”

“He needs our help,” Sam said tentatively.

Dean said nothing. The orange street lights flashed overhead, casting a sallow hue on him, shadowing his eyes, making dark pits out of the pasture-green there. Sam wondered when the last time his brother had gotten a full night’s sleep, remembering that it was just this morning—yesterday morning, now—that he’d half believed his brother might be dead at the hands of the very angel he was defending.


	6. Chapter 6

They pulled into Bobby’s lot and Dean parked behind the Chevelle. He sighed heavily and leaned forward, looking out the windshield up at the house. He hadn’t been back here since he and Castiel had spent a month holed up in a spare bedroom while Dean detoxed from the hormones and drugs that had turned him into an omega for a brief time. And that was only after the week he’d spent letting Sam fuck him while he had been in heat, with Jensen between them, under them, always there, Dean’s sparkling-eyed twin-

“ _Fuck._ ” Dean inhaled sharply as he crossed the threshold into the house, the unmistakable scent of the omega making him stumble. Sam bumped into him, mostly on accident, pushing him further inside so he could close the door behind them. Bobby and Jensen were in the kitchen, passing papers back and forth with cinnamon roll sticky fingers.

“It was his idea,” Bobby said when Sam raised an eyebrow.

“At least I’m eating something, right? Hey, Dean,” Jensen said, waving.

“Uh, h-hey, kid,” Dean stuttered. He shifted from one foot to the other, and Sam was surprised to find his eyes locked with Jensen’s. Jensen smiled and stared back blatantly. He turned in his chair, legs open, licking his sugared thumbnail.

“Want some?” Jensen asked.

“What’s all this?” Sam said, walking between them, breaking the spell, throwing a glare at Jensen as he leaned over the table. Jensen smirked up at him and Sam wanted to slap him. And kiss him. Jensen would laugh and let him do both.

“All the Angel-Off sigils I could scrounge together,” Bobby said. He got up and poured coffee into a mug. He handed it to Dean, who finally moved, slowly, as if he were afraid to trip again, to the other side of the kitchen table.

Dean drank the coffee, refused a cinnamon roll, and, though Sam could see he was fighting it, he started to nod off.

“Son, why don’t you go nap it out. Me, Sam, and the good twin can mark up the house,” Bobby said when Sam nudged him.

“Mm, no. Well. Yeah. You sure?” Dean asked even as he stood and meandered away from the group towards the library and the couch there.

“You want a blanket?” Jensen offered, having slipped Sam’s hold to follow Dean into the other room.

“No. Um, thanks. No. I run hot, anyway.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Jensen,” Dean said, frustration and exhaustion sharpening his voice more than he’d intended, “what? What do you want?”

“I am just making sure you’re okay. I’ll bring you some water.”

“I don’t need you to mommy me.” Dean threw himself down on the couch. He frowned up at the omega as a slow smile spread across Jensen’s face. “ _What_?”

“Nothing,” Jensen said, and the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Casting his eyes down, he pulled his hoodie around his body, zipping it up. He glanced over his shoulder before moving closer to Dean. “Are we in danger?” he asked.

Dean shook his head, swinging his legs up and laying across the couch, folding his arms over his chest. But not before Jensen saw how his hands were trembling. “Nah. Pretty sure nothing’s coming for us yet. ’Sides, they’re gonna put up protection. Safe as… I dunno, whatever that phrase is.” He yawned, his jaw cracking and his eyes watering with it. Jensen was still standing there when he could see again. “Seriously, kid, what is it?”

Jensen’s hands twisted around in his pockets and he opened his mouth to reply, but Sam coming into the room made him stop. He smiled at him and leaned comfortably against Sam’s arm when he stopped next to him. Dean closed his eyes on them both and Sam reached for Jensen’s hand to lead him away when Dean spoke:

“Hey, Jensen?”

“Yeah?”

“Sammy said you were sick. He’s got something for you. It’s from me, though.”

Jensen beamed up at Sam. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Mmhmm.”

“C’mon,” Sam whispered, winding his fingers through Jensen’s and pulling him from the room.

Still in the kitchen, Bobby had arranged three piles of papers, sigils and symbols to be copied onto doors and windows that would keep both angels and demons from entering the house or overhearing anything going on inside. He handed a sheaf to each of them.

“They gotta be exact,” Bobby said even as he twisted the top paper in his hand back and forth as if trying to figure out which way was up. Sam and Jensen exchanged glances. They split up to separate portions of the house, armed with washable paint and brushes.

In less than an hour, it was done. Bobby pushed his cap up at an angle and surveyed the last mark wearily.

“You got some paint—” Jensen said to him, motioning to his hairline.

“You, too,” Bobby said and pointed to Jensen’s chest. When the omega looked down, Bobby flicked his nose.

Jensen laughed. “That’s it, I’m eating another cinnamon roll. How about it, old man?”

“How about diabetes? I’m hittin’ the hay. Let me know if the cans rattle.”

“Night, Bobby,” Sam said and was mildly impressed Jensen waited until the sound of boots faded up the stairs before doing something lewd. His finger loaded with white, cinnamon-streaked frosting, he poked it into his mouth and carefully, slowly, looking up at Sam with half-closed eyes, rolled it around on his tongue before he closed his impossible lips around the digit and sucked it clean, pulling it out a centimeter at a time.

Sam shook his head affectionately. “Is that how it is?”

“Mmhmm,” Jensen replied. He scooped up another glob of icing, but Sam caught his hand and brought it to his own mouth. Using his teeth, he scraped it clean. Jensen hissed, but he hooked his finger, not letting Sam pull it out. Instead, he hauled him down by his jaw into a kiss.

It was sweet and syrupy and too hard. Desperate. Sam had figured this would happen.

“Jen,” Sam mumbled against his mouth, “what? What is it?”

A whimper for an answer. Typical. Sam pried him off, holding Jensen’s face in both hands. Jensen twisted and his teeth nipped at Sam’s palm, at a scar already there, and when Sam shook him, hard, and growled a warning, the tears started. He didn’t let go of Jensen’s face. By the way his eyes were jerking around and flashing gold, strobe-like as he blinked rapidly, Sam knew he’d be peeling Jensen off the ground if he did.

“Baby,” Sam said, his voice soft. “Can you tell me?”

Jensen’s body shuddered in his grip, his eyes rolling, but he surged forward, trying to kiss Sam again. He was clutching Sam’s shirt hard enough Sam heard a seam rip somewhere. Another whimper, then another, and it took all of Sam’s strength to keep his feet, to keep from tumbling into Jensen, to keep them both upright, and he let Jensen kiss him again, hazarding being bit rather than hearing him scream. The whimpers were a warning, he’d learned.

“Love you, love you, don’t go, love me, love you—” Jensen babbled whenever he could, and Sam murmured assurances and promises back, and it seemed Jensen was calming down. His hands unclenched and slid around Sam’s back, fisted but not digging in at least, and he let Sam guide his head down. Jensen’s cheek to his chest, Sam concentrated on breathing deeply, slowly, coaxing Jensen into the rhythm, but it wasn’t going to be that easy. The moment Sam began to relax, when his shoulders came down a little, the tension easing, Jensen’s teeth found him at last. Through the shirt, or it might have drawn blood.

“Damn it,” Sam squawked and shoved him away.

With a cry, Jensen stumbled back, but there wasn’t far to go. His ass hit the cabinet and then Sam had him pinned in the corner, both hands around his throat. He shook Jensen again, loosening more tears, but Jensen didn’t try to pry him off or fight. He put his hands on the counter behind him and took a gasping breath, looking up at Sam with sparking, excited eyes, his cheeks wet and teeth bared. Sam tightened his hold on Jensen’s neck with one hand and used the other to slap him.

“That’s for teasing Dean earlier,” he said, almost in a whisper. His brother wasn’t that far away. He snapped his fingers down across Jensen’s lips next. “And _stop biting me._ ”

“Sss—” Jensen tried, his face red, his mouth a rose, teeth bloody where his bottom lip had split.

“Yeah, sorry little thing, aren’t you?” Sam said, softening the words with a smile and a kiss. Gingerly, ready to pull back, he licked along Jensen’s lips, as addicted to blood as he’d ever been, but for a different reason now. Jensen’s blood was everything sweet and decadent. Coconut oil over vanilla ice cream. A sweet-salty spray from a sea too clean and pure to come from this world. It was warm honey, numbing Sam’s tongue, like the slick Jensen was no doubt wet with between his legs. It was alien and strange and only when he’d swallowed it all, cleaned the omega’s mouth of it and pulled away for a breath, did it taste like human blood, coppery and sharp.

“Ah ah,” Sam chided as Jensen’s teeth snapped together and he finally tried to shake off Sam’s hold. He caught Jensen by the hair—he’d grown it out for just this reason—and jerked his head back. “Down.”

Jensen went to his knees, Sam pulling his hair, guiding. He slid down the kitchen cabinets and let his thighs splay on either of Sam’s legs. Sam swatted Jensen’s hands away as they reached for the front of his jeans. It wasn’t that he didn't trust Jensen not to hurt him; besides the biting thing, which Jensen really seemed to not be able to help doing, he rarely acted out violently towards Sam. But Sam knew giving any control over to him would only worsen the situation, would confuse Jensen. Sam had learned the hard way.

“Put your hands behind your head,” he instructed as he opened his jeans himself.

Jensen’s actions jerky, his breathing hitching back up into whimpers, he did as he was told. He flinched at every movement of Sam’s fingers, although his tears had stopped.

“Just close your eyes. Sometimes you have no sense at all. Haven’t seen Dean in months and first thing you do is mess with him? Can’t even wait to do _this_ behind closed doors.”

Sam shuffled closer and Jensen whined, fitting himself as much as he could into the corner, fingers laced behind his head, elbows out, legs wide, ass on the heels of his shoes—low-soled sneakers, Sam noticed, knowing it was on purpose, that Jensen had intended to make himself shorter than Dean in his ever-present boots.

“Open your mouth,” Sam said, cock in hand, achingly hard already. How could he not be with this beautiful, willing creature before him, wanting him, _needing_ him like his life depended on it. And sometimes it did.

Jensen’s mouth was wet and his throat tight when Sam pushed into it. Jensen accepted him without complaint, without choking or trying to turn away. He couldn’t move, really, but wouldn’t even if he could, well trained by Jared to take whatever his Alpha wanted to give him. Dean hadn’t taken Sam’s cock between his lips so easily, eagerly. Had shied away from doing this, but at the time Sam hadn’t cared, had been less interested in blowjobs than he was in, well—

 _Mating with him. Fucking him, claiming him. Feeling him come with my dick in him. Having his slick, hot omega ass under me, begging me to fuck him_ —

Forks clanked in the sink as Sam came, banging Jensen’s head, luckily cradled by his hands, hard into the cabinet behind him. Sam braced himself on the counter, knees weak, gasping, still buried almost to hilt in Jensen’s mouth. Jensen was weeping again, but his eyes were focused, looking up at Sam looking down at him. His tongue snaked along the bottom of Sam’s cock, making him jump and pull back finally.

Sam crouched. “Here,” he said, guiding Jensen’s arms down from behind his head and holding on to his hands.

“I love you,” Jensen whispered, the words blurry.

“I love you, too.” Sam smiled as he said it, reaching out slowly, but Jensen didn’t twitch away this time. Sam wiped at his cheeks and his chin, rubbing the tears and saliva into his jeans. “C’mon, kid. I dunno if you can sleep after all that sugar, but come lie down with me.”

Jensen nodded and let Sam drag him to his feet. He flipped the lid closed on the cinnamon rolls as they passed the table, earning another amused smile from Sam. Their packs were already in the small room near the bottom of the stairs, and Sam sprawled on the sleeping bags Jensen had laid out. He watched silently as Jensen removed his own shoes first, and then began unlacing his boots.

“Now can you tell me?” Sam asked as Jensen tugged the first boot free. Jensen shook his head, head down, hiding his face, but as he pulled the bow open on the second boot, he said, “Dean.”

“What about him?”

“He’s hurting. _A lot._ It makes you hurt, and I hate it. Do you love me?”

“I do,” Sam said patiently.

Jensen used one of Sam’s boots to keep the door cracked open and then crawled into his arms. Sam could feel tremors running through Jensen’s body, but they were slight and random, not the full body thrum that often preceded a fugue or ended only when Ellen took over.

There were three people living in Jensen’s body, and Ellen was the only one that was impervious to Jensen’s anxiety. A calm, if brusque female construct, a motherly type, very much like the Ellen Sam and Dean had known and loved and had lost, Jensen had created his Ellen in place of his own dead mother, and she showed up from time to time when Jensen couldn’t seem to step back from an emotional precipice.

The other personality was more tricky, sly. A Rhonda—and Sam tried to remember once again to ask Dean why that name sounded familiar—never revealed herself the way Ellen did. There was no warning when Rhonda showed up, and not much gave away she was there at all. Only a laugh. As if life were a private joke, Jensen would start tittering at every last thing, and if Sam didn’t pick up on it, didn’t keep close when it started, Jensen would inevitably end up hurt. Sam had caught him—rather, her—at it once, had walked in on Jensen twisting a screwdriver between his palms, the tip dug deep in the skin of his thigh. There were half a dozen bloody holes in his leg already, and Jensen had merely giggled, spit at him, and then fainted after Sam had snatched the tool out of his hands.

That had been the third day they’d spent at the house together, when Sam had let himself get too distracted, too worried about Dean. Had been _wanting_ Dean, and ignoring Jensen because of it, because Sam couldn’t take being so close to someone who looked so much like his brother, but wasn’t. Jensen had retreated into himself, had let someone else take over, he explained later, rather than see the disappointment on his lover’s face.

“I am _not_ disappointed with you, Jen. This is my problem, not yours. Don’t go away anymore, please? I won’t, either. I’m right here.”

Jensen had promised he’d try, but Sam knew he had almost no control over it. Ellen came to the fore whenever Jensen felt overwhelmed. Rhonda slunk through those times Jensen felt he’d done something wrong. There had been other personalities in the beginning, but Ellen had chased them away, she claimed. Jensen had healed, Sam knew. Was no longer drowning in medications designed by a twisted version of Alastair to make Jensen sick and crazy, formulated to hurt Jensen’s psyche because Alastair couldn’t hurt him anymore physically after Jared had claimed Jensen and taken him away from Alastair’s mental institution.

“Don’t,” came Jensen’s voice, a quiet plea in the darkness. “Just be with me here, now.”

“I am. I’m right here. Not gonna leave you, promise.”

It was the omega who left Sam.

He waited until Sam drifted off, rolled away from Jensen, too hot in his sleep like his brother. There was a weird smell in the room, one that had wafted around both hunters earlier but had cleared away eventually. Now, it was back and somewhere in the room with them. Jensen sat up and looked around, scenting the air. Sam said he looked like a cat when he did it, but it was effective. Moving carefully, Jensen crawled to their bundled clothes and fished through the pockets of Sam’s jacket. A pill bottle seemed to be the source. There was a curious metal object in the same pocket and Jensen palmed them both and crept out of the room.

He still felt jumpy, but Sam’s rough handling had brought him back into focus.

“Calm little center,” Jensen muttered to himself.

In the hallway, he paused, waiting. Dizziness was fallout from the anxiety and, as if all the blood had sloshed to one side of his body, weighing his head and limbs heavily, he might stagger, would fall sometimes, sometimes fainted outright. The muscles in his left arm and his thighs were tingling, tiny pops of electricity surging through them, but he could move without difficulty. Feeling confident enough, he headed for the kitchen, walking close to the walls when he could, keeping the floor from creaking as much as possible, but Dean’s voice drew him to the library. Jensen crept up to the open door. It took him a moment to realise he was hearing only half of a conversation rather than Dean talking to himself.

“I’m not gonna logic you, okay? I’m saying don’t…just ’cause. I’m asking you not to. That’s it,” Dean said, sounding angry and desperate at the same time. “Look, you, Sam, Bobby, Jensen, you are my family. So, if I’m asking you not to do something… You got to trust me, man.”

Jensen blinked, surprised that Dean would include him. He’d been mostly convinced Dean hated him, despite the reassurance he’d gotten. There was a pause and then, with deadly calm, Dean said:

“Or I’ll have to do what I have to do to stop you.” And then: “I don’t know. I’ve taken some pretty big fish.”

Another pause and then Jensen heard Dean gasp.

“‘Keep me by your side?’ Are you fucking _threatening_ me? You know who does that, Cas? Abusive a-holes, that’s who.” Dean’s voice took on a controlled, steady tone, but Jensen could hear the plea in the next words. “Then don’t do this. Stay with me. We’ll find another way.”

The control slipped and Jensen could taste Dean’s tears, smoke permeating the air from a fire built hastily of too-wet wood.

“You just said it yourself, you don’t know that! Please. If you love—well, I’m sorry too, then.”

There was silence after that, and Jensen debated going back the way he’d come and slipping into Sam’s arms, but Dean’s voice called out again:

“Jensen. I know you’re there, kid.”

It wasn’t in him to feel guilty for eavesdropping. He peeked around the door. “I think I know which sigil Bobby messed up on,” he offered.

Dean waved it away. “Doesn’t matter. Cas won’t be back.”

He was standing in the middle of the library, blue light all around him from the moon pouring in the window, the sigil there cutting a dark line across his face. Jensen stepped lightly towards him, giving Dean the opportunity to move back. Hands at his sides, fists opening and closing like slow, twin hearts, Dean was staring at something only he could see. Jensen got within touching distance of him before he looked up, glassy-eyed and his lashes tangled, salted, but he looked away quickly, squinting as if Jensen were something too bright for him to bear right now.

Dean sniffed and swallowed loudly, and he seemed to collapse in on himself even further. With a sigh, he rubbed a hand across his face. Jensen almost had his fingers on him, had reached out to brush his arm, to give Dean some sort of comfort, but he missed, fingertips warm from the proximity. Dean turned away at the very last second, backing up and letting his legs tell him where the couch was. He dropped onto it heavily, but he gestured to the space next to him.

“Sorry if I woke you up. Is Sam—”

“He’s out,” Jensen said, folding up next to Dean.

“Good. That’s good.” Dean nodded to himself. “Doesn’t sleep near enough. Never did. Restless. Always got something going on up there. Drove me nuts as a kid, asking a zillion questions when he was supposed to be napping. Shit I didn’t have an answer for. Tell him to shut up, pff, that’d last for like ten seconds. Like he can’t stop his mind going, you know?”

Jensen nodded, but he knew Dean wasn’t really looking to him to agree or understand. He was talking because if he didn’t, he’d scream. Jensen knew that feeling all too well.

Dean kept talking, rambling disjointedly about his brother being a nuisance, his adoration in the smile that seeped across his lips. But even as he complained good-naturedly, he dragged his duffle bag closer with a booted heel and retrieved a flask from its depths. He offered it to Jensen twice and was rejected twice, but Jensen remembered what had stirred him from his Alpha’s side in the first place.

“What’s this?” he asked when Dean had his lips to the flask again, unpocketing the plastic jar and metal pipe.

“Ha,” Dean chuckled, taking the items from Jensen. “This,” he said, popping the cap on the jar and waving it under Jensen’s nose, “is another tool in the long-standing Winchester tradition of self-medication. It’s pot. Marijuana. Weed.”

Jensen wrinkled his nose. “It smells…good? I guess? What’s it do?”

“Gets you stoned. For you, though, it’ll keep you from puking. Sam said you were sick, and this is the universe’s best medicine.”

“Medicine?” Jensen echoed.

“Nah, kid, it ain’t like that. C’mon, me of all people, would I mess with you that way?” Dean finally looked up when Jensen didn’t answer. Jensen was chewing his lip, his eyes like the ocean at night, rolling and reflecting the sapphire glow around his pupils like a whirlpool circling an abyss. “I’ll go first, alright? Just do it like I do.”

Jensen watched, skeptical, as Dean tore a dime-sized chunk of the sticky herb from the main bud and poked it into the pipe. He retrieved, considered, and replaced his Zippo, got up to search Bobby’s desk for a Bic instead, but had to settle for matches. Seated again, he turned towards Jensen and didn’t move away when their knees brushed. The match flared and Dean had to light another one after the first burnt the tips of his fingers while he watched the flame set off a Roman candle in Jensen’s eyes.

“Damn,” he muttered, licking his fingertips. “Okay, here’s how it’s done.”

The weed hissed merrily when put to match. Dean inhaled deeply and winked at Jensen. He began flipping his fingers up one by one and when he got to seven, he breathed out slowly. “Is a lucky number, I dunno,” Dean explained, embarrassed by the ritual. He cleared his throat and chewed the air for a minute. “Hm. It’s not bad, a little dry. So you put the pipe against your lips, like that.”

Jensen winced and tongued the small split in center of his lower lip. Dean squinted at him, at the cut that hadn’t been there earlier, and took the pipe back without comment.

“Let’s, uh, do this instead. Shotgun. You breathe in when I breathe out, okay?”

“O-okay…”

“Just. Trust me.” Dean sparked another match and the bowl sizzled. Another long inhale and Dean flicked the match out and leaned forward. Surprised, Jensen leaned away, but Dean caught him with a hand behind his head.

“Exhale now,” Dean squeaked, his throat tight, trapping the smoke, “and don’t kiss me!”

Jensen didn’t have time to reply, but he emptied his lungs and opened his mouth when Dean brought his clover-scented lips near his, and inhaled when Dean’s warm, moist, candy-sweet breath poured in.

“Hold it,” Dean said, a gentle command, and pulled back only when he nearly licked Jensen’s lips licking his own. Jensen blinked in response and held up his hand, counting with his fingers. Dean snorted.

“Exhale through your nose,” he said at the last second and Jensen complied, going a little cross-eyed watching it happen. Dean grinned and lit the bowl once more, but the weed was mostly gone and he made a face, blowing out the thin smoke quickly. He tapped the bowl out on his boot and rubbed the ash into the leather idly, peering over at Jensen from the corner of his eye.

“Feel anything?” he asked after a minute.

Jensen did. His mouth felt sticky, his tongue heavy between his teeth. His heart was not-quite racing, but moving faster than he was used to while just sitting, but most curious and wonderful to him was the way his mind had slowed. The conversations he was reluctantly, _constantly_ , privy to, fell silent. Or at least they moved to another room, left him alone with his own thoughts for the first time in, well, he couldn’t even remember. He couldn’t muster up the will to worry about anything but felt at the same time curious about everything.

“But not because it all has something to do with _me_ ,” Jensen finished and then hid his face in his hands when Dean laughed at him.

“Alright, cupcake, one hit at a time for you. Good start, though.”

“It’s nice,” Jensen said. “I can’t stop smiling, which is kind of annoying. But I feel like… I just don’t… It’s like…”

Dean smiled at him and patted his leg. “It’s okay to not care sometimes. To relax and—” He fluttered fingers at nothing. “Just say fuck all. Pot’s better for you than booze, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Way. Won’t mess up your temple like this shit does. Don’t do it too much, though,” Dean said, emphasizing with a finger pointed at Jensen. “Sam’ll get pissed if I turn you into a hippie.”

“Promise,” Jensen said, making a note to look up ‘hippie’ later.

The moon was down and the room was still and dark as both men relaxed back onto the couch for a time, and Jensen almost drifted off, but where there was smoke there was fire, and Dean was staring at him.

“I got something else for you,” Dean said abruptly. He dug into his bag again and pulled out a tattered paperback book. Jensen just caught the title, silver letters shining _Ender’s Game_ , before Dean shook it. Two squares of glossy paper fell free. Dean snatched both up and glanced at them before securing one back between the novel’s pages and stashing the book back into the duffle. The other he held and looked at, the first two fingers of his left hand flicking together nervously. The caramel-apple dulcitude wisping about Dean’s body for last hour heated, an ember gusted to life, and his skin fed the bonfire and Jensen tried not to squirm at the assault of Dean’s confusion on his senses.

“Dean, you don’t—”

“Here,” Dean said, thrusting the corner-crumpled thing into Jensen’s hand.

Even in the darkness, Jensen recognised the picture. He’d seen it a thousand times in the home he’d shared with Jared, in a frame on the shelf near the television. He’d seen it and memorised it and was glad of that now because he couldn’t make it out through his tears. A hand over his mouth did nothing to stop the sob.

“I can’t—why do you have this? _How_?” Jensen managed, the words shaking with the hammering of his heart.

“To be honest, I don’t know. I hardly remember taking it. I should have given it to you sooner.”

“No. I mean, it’s fine, thank you.” He let out a laugh that sounded terribly like another sob to Dean, and wiped his eyes on his arm, blinking and peering closely at the picture “I never thought I’d see him again.”

“You see Sam every day.”

Without taking his eyes off the picture, Jensen said, “Do _you_ see Jared when you look at Sam?”

Dean emptied his flask instead of answering. “Well, still shoulda given that to you earlier. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

They were quiet for awhile, Jensen staring at the photograph in his hand, Dean watching him do it. Jensen broke the stillness, tearing his eyes away from the picture to look back at Dean.

“I heard you, what you said to Cas. Some of it. Do you… You really consider me family?”

“You’re Sam’s—” Dean waved the flask in his hand around, searching for a word that didn’t stick on his tongue “—boyfriend, I guess, so that makes you family to me. Besides, you tried to look out for me in your own way. Fucked up as it was. Not much worse than some of the shit Cas has done. This though…”

“Can I ask you something?”

Dean laughed. Or what passed for it, Jensen thought. He’d never actually heard the hunter laugh.

“Sure. Fuck it. I’m high, buzzed, pissed off, and my angel just cheated on me with the King of Hell. Whatcha got?”

“Was it better, being with Cas rather than staying with Sam?”

The grim smile vanished from Dean’s face. “Kid, you have no common sense, do you?”

“Sam would say no.”

Dean shook the flask before pitching it back into the open duffle. He shoved himself up and went to Bobby’s desk but only stood there, looking down at the drawer he knew the whiskey to be in. In the end, he merely leaned over the desk, palms flat on the surface as if the weight of the world was pushing back at him.

“There’s no comparison,” he said, head hanging, and if the house and the junkyard and the night around them hadn’t been utterly still for once, Jensen wouldn’t have been able to hear his words. “I need my brother. I don’t know if you can really understand that. I’m not right without him. Not whole. Everything… Everything is about him. It always has been. I have, literally, done anything for him. It’s like I’m not one person. Half of me is walking around in that dumb fuck sleeping in there.” He lifted his head, a dagger’s edge in his pale jade eyes. “But you know what Cas told me the other day?”

Jensen didn’t move, didn’t matter. Dean wasn’t seeing him.

“Castiel told me that _he_ was made for _me_. That he was _mine_. And talk about not having any sense, I fucking believed him. And I thought—fuck, so stupid, jesus christ—that if Cas loved me that maybe fucking _God_ loved me. And that if it worked that way, God loved Sam, too. That everything that’s happened to that poor kid was some perfect plan that God wanted and neither of us is doomed to Hell, no matter what we do, because He gave us an angel. But that angel lied to me. Lied to us. Lied about everything, as far as I know. Not made for anything but to screw us over. So, it’s just me and Sam. And I thought that if me and Cas, we were supposed to be together, that this whole thing—you, what happened…before…that it was a mistake, an accident. Oops, fucked my brother, my bad. But the way it’s always been… If Cas lied… He also said maybe me and Sam—”

Abruptly, he stopped and straightened, turning towards the hallway. Sam rounded the doorway a second later, his cheek sleep creased, his tangled hair stopping his fingers. He made a face and pushed the twisted strands behind one ear, bleary-eyed, but gave Jensen a relieved smile when he saw him.

“Dean was teaching me to smoke pot!” Jensen blurted, rising to greet Sam. Dean saw him slip the picture of his dead Alpha into his back pocket.

“That’s, uh, great?” Sam said cautiously.

Jensen snuggled himself into Sam’s arms and this time Dean didn’t look away. He shrugged when Sam glanced over at him, finally finding him in the darkness, then nodded his head once when Sam gestured to Jensen with one finger behind his back and raised an eyebrow.

“So guess who fluttered in,” Dean said.

Sam looked around from thumbing Jensen’s bruised lip as if Cas would still be there.

“In and out,” Dean clarified. “I tried, Sam. But everything I said just—” he waved a hand over his head. He touched the drawer with the whiskey in it, then sighed and went back to the couch instead.

“Maybe if I tried..?”

“Won’t do any good, Sam.”

“Maybe if we both call him, maybe if he comes back—”

“No. No way. And he’s not coming back. You’re welcome to hang out just in case he does.”

On his back again, eyes closed, Dean didn’t see the surprised expression on Sam’s face, didn’t see Jensen smile up at Sam. He did hear Jensen’s light footfalls fade from the room for a minute, then the rustle of sleeping bags as he returned and spread them out on the floor a few feet from the couch. He listened to their quiet mutterings as they situated themselves, and waded back into sleep with their breathing in his ears like the lapping of gentle waves at the shore.


	7. Chapter 7

The brothers slept late, waking within seconds of each other around ten in the morning. Sam was up and into the bathroom before Dean could even focus, years of waiting for Dean and cold showers and gross tub floors propelling him. Dean followed the smell of bacon into the kitchen. Jensen was at the stove, and slid a plate heavy with an omelette in front of him. It was greasy, the onions were minced and it was gooey with cheese.

“’S fucking perfect. Thanks, kid.”

“I know. You’re welcome,” Jensen said, taking a seat across from Dean. He tapped the pipe on the table “This stuff really does help. First time in a month I’ve been able to eat anything before noon and keep it down.”

“Lip’s better,” Dean noted, one cheek stuffed.

“Yeah. I heal fast. Oh, here, coffee.”

As he poured, they heard Bobby cursing and banging around upstairs.

“He’s been doing that for a while,” explained Jensen. “Says something’s missing.”

“What’s missing?” Sam asked, his face damp and pink from scrubbing it. Jensen leaned up and kissed him and Dean wondered absurdly if Sam tasted weird, like drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth. He looked down at his plate and concentrated on his eggs. Sam sat and Jensen produced a plate for him: less grease, less cheese, no onions and Dean could see mushrooms poking out of the folded eggs. Jensen poured them both more coffee, his hand under Sam’s hair on the back of his neck, long nails scratching softly there.

“I already fed the old man,” Jensen said. “Told him about the bad sigil, got it fixed. The truck’s out back, loaded up to go to the dump. I shoulda come over a couple weeks ago to take care of that. Got all the empties and trash from the cars, too.”

It was weirdly soothing listening to the omega’s domestic murmuring as he fingered through Sam’s hair until it was smooth. He took their plates and brought more coffee, and a couple of aspirin for Dean without being asked and Dean forgot to pull away, to be irritated when Jensen brushed his fingers along his jaw and tilted his face up. Jensen peered at a cut under his chin from last night’s demon brawl and inspected his bruised cheek, and Dean let him do it, not minding, distracted by Jensen’s soft touch, his scent, the way his eyes were green-gold pinwheels in the morning sun.

Sam’s eyes were almost the same colour, though not gilded. His lips were parted, wet and red from the hot coffee, his tongue moving back and forth over his bottom teeth as he watched the twins the way a well-fed cat watches birds from the porch: patiently, knowing he’ll be hungry again later. He couldn’t help thinking things might have gone very differently that day if Bobby hadn’t slapped a folder down on the table and startled them all. If Castiel hadn’t stolen a journal from the house last night, and if Crowley hadn’t finally reared his red-eyed head and dangled the lives of people Dean loved over them. Bricks and mortar, each of those things walled Dean back up within himself, and there was nothing Sam could do about it.

Watching Dean try to find Lisa and Ben after Crowley had them kidnapped was a horror movie to Sam. Whatever his brother had been using to hold his shit together fell apart with Ben’s frantic phone call. Left Dean raw, ragged and careless, vengeful and desperate, and no matter how Sam tried to calm him down, tried to get him to be careful or think clearly, Dean resisted him.

For two days, Dean interrogated, tortured, and killed any demon he could find, summon, or capture for information on his ex-girlfriend and her son—who may or may not be _his_ son too. Sam was inclined to think Ben was Dean’s, despite what Lisa said; the kid was a spitting image of their own father, John Winchester, and acted just like Dean, moved like him.

Dean was making himself into something they wouldn’t recognise should he be able to find and rescue them—restless and wound up, every muscle tense, hollow-eyed and more than a little terrifying, if Sam was honest with himself. And Sam couldn’t seem to get through to him.

Dean felt himself at the bottom of a well, Sam knew. Everyone he loved was up there, out of his reach, suffering, and he’d tripped and fallen in it and let them all down, and he seemed determined to use whatever he could get his hands on—drugs, spells, his own blood, demon blood, and the blood of anyone that got in the way of saving the two people that had given him the only moments of normalcy in his life, to get back to high ground. Convinced this was all his fault, he refused Sam’s help. So Sam kept close to Dean. It was all he could do.

Sam prayed to Castiel, too. Actually, he fucking begged the angel. There was no answer, though Sam caught the faintest whiff of flowers in the junkyard. It was terrible knowing the angel was near and would not help them.

When he next saw Lisa in Dean’s arms, bleeding out from a gut wound, dying, her son sheet-white and holding a shotgun, he cursed himself for ever having venerated Castiel, and it was only his own reckless driving that got Lisa to a hospital alive. He doubted she’d leave it the same.

But, as Ben, his maybe-nephew, banged angrily through the hospital room door, away from Dean standing helplessly near Lisa’s bed, Sam finally saw Cas. The door swung wildly from the boy bursting through it, and inside the room Sam had a glimpse of the angel, looking sad. The door closed, but Sam could still see Cas through the window and could hear Dean’s angry, low voice. Cas approached the unconscious woman, hand out, and Sam’s heart did a hard hop. He put his tingling face in his hands and allowed himself a shuddering sob of relief, a few tears; for an almost-motherless son, a heartbroken brother, and a guilty angel. He cried for them, then drew himself up and back together when Dean emerged from the room, pale and tight-lipped.

He brought the car around and waited for Dean, trying to swallow what Dean had asked Castiel to do, but he knew his brother meant it when he said he’d break Sam’s nose if he mentioned Lisa or Ben again. They drove away in silence, Sam thinking about his own lost memories. That Castiel could erase Lisa and Ben’s memories of Dean without any blowback, ever, Sam kinda doubted. Even Death himself had only been able to erect a sketchy wall in Sam’s mind to keep him separated from his time in Hell and from what he’d done soulless. Even thinking about it abstractly made his eye twitch, his stomach hollow painfully.

But what was done was done and Dean was in no mood to be second-guessed.

Miles passed in silence.

Sam’s eyelids popped open when the Impala’s wheels crunched on gravel. He didn’t remember nodding off, but it was dusk now and wherever they were, it was hours and hours away from where they had been. Away from a life Dean almost had; one for a while he’d even thought he’d wanted.

Sam knuckled his eyes and peered around. “Where—a bar?”

“I’m hungry. And bored.”

“Really, Dean? You’re gonna hook up, after all that?”

“Something.”

Sam looked his brother over. _Shit_. Dean was in his fighting form, Sam could tell. Dean’s eyes scanned the parking lot of the dive, looking for cars parked in groups; gangs, or packs of rednecks. His face was a relaxed mask of nonchalance even as he checked his pockets, emptying out anything he didn’t want lost, broken, stolen or used against him. Messed up thing was, Sam understood. Didn’t agree taking out his rage on unsuspecting locals was the best way to deal with it, but he got it. It was fight, hurt, fuck, or go numb.

_You know who’s numb, Sam? Dead guys. We’re not dead. C’mon, little brother, kick some ass and get some numbers with me._

“No,” Sam said.

“What? The fuck you mumblin’ about over there?”

“Why don’t you just let me be your date tonight?” Sam said, keeping his tone light, but when his brother rolled his eyes and glanced over at him, Dean jumped in his seat at the way Sam was staring at him.

“You’re serious? What the hell, man. Don’t, okay? Not now. Not…at all, got it?”

“Yeah, Dean, I _got_ it. I got _you_ , draggin’ me to this shithole so you can fuck and fight yourself into forgetting today. Why you gotta ruin some random fucker’s night, huh? Just ’cause yours is? Mine, too, alright? Fuckin’ leave them alone. Just… I’m right here, you know?”

A smile almost, _almost_ , graced Dean’s lips. It made his eyes glint, and suddenly Sam missed Jensen so much. Missed the omega’s sweetness and charm, missed the way he was never hidden from Sam, never withdrawn, missed his straightforwardness and the ease with which he needed Sam.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Just get out of the car and come get some food with me, you little bitch. Drink some beers. Play pool. Whatever. I just gotta do _something_ , okay?”

“Okay, Dean.”

“If this is a date, you’re buyin’,” Dean said as he flung himself out of the car before Sam could respond.

He bought. Beer, two pitchers. Nachos. Dean consumed most of everything. Sam paid for five doubles of whisky, downed one of them, and surreptitiously tipped the bartender to refuse Dean if he tried for more. He put coins on the pool table but left Dean to hustle and slipped into the piss-soaked lot next to the bar to call Jensen.

“How are you feelin’?” Sam asked.

“Not as bad. The pot helps.”

“Good. Just some virus you’re not used to. You’ll be fine.”

“ _You’re_ fine. I miss you, Alpha. You almost home?”

“Yeah. Half a day away, I think. Stopped for food and so Dean could…stretch his legs, I guess. He’s not alright, Jen. Cas showed up. We’d have lost Lisa if he hadn’t, but Dean didn’t take it very well. Any of it.”

“They’re okay? Lisa and the kid?”

“Fine. Cas made sure of that, and wiped anything having to do with Dean from their memories, so they can’t be used against us again.”

“Shit. Isn’t that kid—”

“Yeah. I think so, anyway. We’ll never know. Dean’s not talking, and you don’t say anything about it, okay?”

“Yes, Alpha. You bringing him back?”

“I just saw the first star come out.”

“I don’t like to look at them without you.”

“Do you want me to bring him?”

Jensen laughed, a quiet noise through his closed mouth. Sam knew the sound, knew there was a smile on Jensen’s lips and that his sparkler eyes were shut, that he was almost asleep, preferring unconsciousness over being alone and waiting for Sam to return. He said, “I want what you want. You know that.”

“Want you,” Sam said. Jensen laughed again, sultry and low, and Sam knew he was going to have to walk around the lot for a while before going back into the bar.

A few more minutes of promises and teasing and Sam closed his phone. Jensen’s drifting sighs and giggles had made him hard, made it hard not to go grab Dean and toss him in the Impala, protesting or not, and floor it all the way back to Sioux Falls. What he’d do with the twins when he got there was still up in the air; up to Dean mostly, but Sam had his ideas about it all.

It was Dean’s bar he re-entered. In thirty minutes, his damn brother had the place tight-wound around his finger. Half the women were breathless and tittering, their men cross-armed and narrow-eyed. The other half of the patrons, men and women alike, were glaring at the hunter. Maybe thirty people altogether, and in one mood or another, they’re every one Dean’s private audience.

Bent, steady, smooth, he took his last shot and the pool balls clacked. A blonde clapped, two guys in cowboy boots groaned and muttered, and a third, wearing a black leather jacket, stood up to join his hustled friends.

Dean had the blonde against the wall, too close, too uncaring of the men behind him, talking nonsense to the woman, rolling the cue in his fingertips. Sam knew he was not uncaring at all. He was daring, tempting, baiting, offering his back. Hiding his claws.

Sam beat the men to the trap.

“Dean!” he hollered, and he had a big voice. A big man, and the others stopped their advance, though they stood their ground. The blonde’s eyes were glassy as she sized Sam up. She was just Dean’s type: daddy’s good girl gone to college, too much makeup, condoms in her purse. Sam could smell the vanilla sweating off of her, a desperate imitation of the scent. It did nothing to cover up the linoleic acidity of cut grass rising in a cloud as she shifted her legs open wider. Sam flashed on biology class; the scent attracted predators.

Dean glared over his shoulder, eyes like blades, whirring, and he slid his lips back off his teeth as if he wanted to nip Sam’s hand when it touched his shoulder.

Sam said, “Let’s go.”

“Nope. Uh-uh. Two outta three, huh, boys?” Dean said, addressing the grouped hostility behind him, still looking up at Sam, his arm still railing the girl.

“Fuck that noise. Piss off, fuckwad,” a yokel barked, accompanied by grunts from his friends. The girl giggled, uncomfortable suddenly, but Dean was done with her and out from under Sam’s hold like vapour.

“I’ll let you play again for the right to call me that. To my face, this time.” Dean was grinning, humourless and mean, and Sam groaned inwardly.

One of the guys edged a foot back, steadying, and called Dean a fuckwad to his face, without playing. Dean snapped forward, busting his knuckles open on the guy’s mouth. A tooth, half of one maybe, hit the floor before the guy did, and Sam picked up the pool cue and bellowed his brother’s name again. He swung it, brushing the collar of Dean’s jacket as he ducked, and it broke across the other guy’s chest, doubling him over. There was a loud shuffle as the bar reacted, and Sam knew he and Dean could take most anyone who wanted to fight, but he was positive none of them could take it.

Dean was advancing on the guy in the leather jacket, chin tucked, hands loose at his sides, and that was the only reason Sam was able to cage him. Elbows free, Dean was a force, but pinned, Sam half throwing him between steps, Dean roared his irritation as he was carried outside.

“What the fuck, Sam! Lemme _go_.”

Sam did, and Dean stumbled in the gravel. He hit the side of a Buick and ricocheted back at Sam.

“Asshole,” Dean spat. “Fuckin’ bitch. You don’t wanna fight, go sit in the car, but don’t get in my way!”

“You’re being stupid, Dean.”

“ _You’re_ stupid, stupid.”

“Get in the car, jerk.”

“Fuckin’ make me.”

“What the hell. Really? I don’t want to play this game. Let’s just go home.”

Teeth again, and Sam realised his mistake too late.

“ _Home_? Since when do I fucking have a _home_ , Sammy? You, fuckin’— _you_ , you’re my home, that fucking car, that’s our home, okay? But you got somethin’ now, dontcha? Somewhere to be, someone waitin’ for you. Well, _good for you_!”

Dean was in his face, shouting, watery-eyed and so close Sam could only breathe smoke, his brother’s anguish burning his throat. Some words came out, but Dean wasn’t listening, furious and heart-sick.

“You hearin’ me? _Go away_. Get away from me,” Dean said, gagged on the words, and shoved Sam. When he didn’t go farther away than where Dean moved him, Dean hit him. Same place he’d aimed last time he’d hit Sam, the last time Sam wouldn’t leave him alone, wouldn’t move. Had had Dean naked and trapped in a corner. Sam grunted as his ribs were bruised. He still didn’t move, but he didn’t come for Dean, unlike last time.

“If I go, you’re coming with me,” said Sam. “Get in the car.”

Dean swung on him again, aiming for his eye. Sam leaned back and his brother’s knuckles just grazed the bridge of his nose, but Dean followed through with a second punch to the ribs. A shock of pain buzzed through him and Dean barked a laugh, honing in on a weak spot as Sam doubled over involuntarily. He took a quick step forward, arm drawn back, and Sam surged up through the opening and smashed Dean in the jaw with his right fist. With his left hand, he caught Dean’s jacket as he fell, keeping him from a face full of gravel.

Sam winced as his ribs creaked, but he hoisted Dean up under his arm, and dragged them both towards Baby. He noticed a few bystanders as he crossed the parking lot and wanted to tell them how lucky they were he’d taken one for the team, but he put his head down and hurried instead. Dean was scuffling his feet by the time they got to the car, was even able to stand, leaning against it as Sam unlocked the passenger side. He slung Dean into the seat and stood, holding the door open, watching him.

“Dude, you gonna puke now or later?”

“Fuckin’ not gonna. Fuck you. Shithead,” Dean slurred, his eyes rolling around under lowered lids. Inexplicably, he started to giggle, grinned, flinched when it hurt his jaw. He gave Sam the finger and reached blindly for the door. Sam slammed it closed on him and went to the driver’s side.

Dean was still laughing, still calling him names, miles down the road. Still drinking. He pulled a flask from his jacket and sucked hard on it.

“Cheap shot, bitch. The only way you can knock me out, huh?”

“Coulda kicked you in the dick, but I didn’t have time for careful aim.”

“Fuck you. You know right where my dick is at all times, I bet. Want some?”

Sam refused to glance over, to give Dean the satisfaction of his wordplay winning a response from him. It didn’t matter. Dean was drunk and pissed off and he was his own best audience right now.

“Fine. Don’t know what you’re missing,” he sneered and sucked loudly at the flask. Coughed. “Damn, I dunno what I got, actually. The fuck is this? Maybe I put gas in the flask and whisky in my car?”

He laughed, and Sam had to smile. It hurt to breathe in.

Somehow, Dean convinced him to stop and buy a six-pack of beer, and just over the state line into South Dakota, three hours until dawn, Sam settled the car into park and left Dean, three beers deep, an empty flask at his feet, asleep against the window, to check them into a motel. The lure of a warm, welcoming omega just a few hours away was so, so, so damn tempting, but Sam’s eyes were burning, his side hurt, and Dean would probably only come around enough to be an asshole and try to drive away drunk, so this seemed like the best bet for now.

Sam flicked the light on in the room. There were seagulls everywhere: lampshades, wallpaper, screwed down statues. He shut the light off.

“The fuck, Sammy? ’M fine. Gotta piss,” Dean slurred, shaking off Sam’s grip on his arm. He stumbled away, leaving a trail of clothes as he went: jacket, flannel, his watch. Sam caught a glimpse of muscled back before the bathroom door closed. He sighed and pissed in the sink in the kitchenette, brushed his teeth and stripped down to his boxers before falling into the bed nearest the door.

He closed his eyes. Wished he could close his ears, too, as Dean pissed like a racehorse into the toilet, and jesus, how big was his bladder? They could both hold it for longer than was probably healthy, had learned to over the years, but Dean seemed to be pulling a Leisure Suit Larry in there, pissing his way back to sobriety. It would be clear and foamy, beer-piss, and Sam groaned and flipped onto his stomach, determined to go the fuck to sleep right the fuck now.

Dean woke him up. The bed bounced and his brother sniffed once, like he’d been crying. The covers tightened over Sam’s back, and Dean’s entirely too-cold body pressed full length against his side. Sam froze, even managed to repress the automatic shudder that rose in him at the temperature change. Dean wiggled a few times, turned onto his side, his ass against Sam’s hip, separated there only by Sam’s underwear, and with another sniff, went still.

An hour went by. An hour Sam spent with his cock hard and trapped at a weird angle beneath him, with Dean sleeping by his side, naked. An hour when Sam barely breathed or blinked, when he thought about every last random thing he could think of that didn’t have to do with his fucking naked brother next to him. With fucking his naked brother. Somehow the thought of getting up and going to the other bed never crossed his mind, not really, and when Dean began to twitch and murmur in his sleep, Sam found the vague excuse he needed to finally move.

 _Just like we’re kids_ , he told himself, curling around Dean without quite touching him. Except, when they were kids it was usually Sam having the nightmares and Dean comforting him. With pretend exasperation but a smile he couldn’t hide, Dean would pull his brother against him and tell him to quit being a scaredy-cat, Dad would be home soon, the salt lines were fine, he was safe.

Dad was dead, they hardly bothered with salt lines anymore when it was just the two of them, and being safe had long since disappeared off their radar, and whatever might give them nightmares, scare them, was less about what _could_ happen and almost always about what already _had_ happened.

Dean jerked hard, his head snapping back, and Sam had to lift his own to keep from getting hit. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom—it was never really dark in a motel room anyway—and he studied Dean in the blue-black light. He was frowning, eyelashes almost lost in the tight grimace he was making, and his teeth were visible, his lips peeled back into a snarl, and when Sam touched his fingertips to Dean’s ribs, he was sweating, soaking the blanket to him.

At his touch, Dean gasped and Sam almost drew back, a hand in the cookie jar reaction, but the expression on Dean’s face changed. Sam moved his hand forward instead, fingers curling over his brother’s side, his palm pressing down softly. Dean smiled, moved his shoulder down, bared his neck.

“Jared,” he said.

There was a scar on the shoulder Dean was offering, the thick muscle there marred by a row of imprints that had faded to a shiny pink over the months. It was unmistakably a human bite. Or, it could be easily mistaken for human if one didn’t look too closely at how large and deep two of the marks were. Canine teeth as long as a wolf’s had pierced Dean’s flesh. Jared had bit Dean, claimed him, scarred him, and Sam had learned from a reluctant Jensen that the Alpha had some kind of protein in his saliva that had bonded to Dean’s blood, that the bite had physically altered Dean somehow, marked him forever. And now in his sleep, Dean was offering up his body to the creature that had raped and abused him and loved him.

Dean said Jared’s name again, and Sam felt like he was the one in a nightmare. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t filter his brother’s blood, clean it, remove Jared from his system. He couldn’t change the past, couldn’t protect Dean from what had been done to him, and it was a blow that Dean was calling out for Jared. Not for Sam.

“Dean,” he whispered, gently rubbing a circle on his side with his palm.

“Cas?” Dean said loudly, startled, and he flipped around so fast Sam had no time to back up. They ended up almost nose to nose.

“No, Dean, it’s me. You were dreaming. You—”

Dean blinked once, and Sam was so close he actually saw the first tears swell in the corners of Dean’s eyes, saw his pupils go pinprick in the darkness, and the sob that exploded out of Dean’s chest was a whisky-warm gust against Sam’s cheek.

“Hey, hey, Dean, it’s okay, man. What’s wrong? Hey—”

“Fuckin’ _not_ okay!”

“Alright. Is it Cas?”

At the angel’s name, Dean made a sound, some kind of terrible whine that started high and ended bloody, and he rolled onto his back. Both hands came up and covered his face. The bed shook. Sam leaned up on one elbow, his hand still on Dean, on his chest, and he could feel Dean’s breath hitching inside him.

“ _Left me_ , Sam. Fuckin’, Cas  _left_. My angel. L-loved me. God. Loved _me_. And he left. Said, said we were _supposed_ to—to be—he fuckin’ left me!”

Sam couldn’t say anything. He knew Dean probably didn’t particularly want to be seen like this, but here it was, and he wasn’t going to embarrass Dean by lying to him, by telling him everything was going to be okay.

Dean curled onto his side, but not away from Sam; pulled him closer, took Sam by the wrist, pulled the hand that had been on his chest with him as he went. Dean tucked it under his chin and Sam had no choice but to spoon himself behind Dean. He wouldn’t have made a different choice had he been asked to, but he was still surprised at the action. Sam flattened his free hand against Dean’s back, along his shoulder blade, and bent his long legs, gently molding himself around his brother’s smaller frame. Still wracked by sobs, his face buried in a pillow, Dean gripped Sam’s hand, and Sam held him.

The grief lasted a long time. Would last a lifetime, Sam thought, but the physical symptoms tapered off eventually. Dean’s breathing steadied, his gasping became infrequent and finally quieted. He sniffed a few times and then went still. Skin on skin, they were sweating, but Dean hadn’t let go of Sam’s hand, and as tired as Sam had been earlier, he was wide awake now.

Dean’s voice surprised him.

“Sam?” The word was small and forced out, pained.

“Yeah,” he answered, lips brushing against the knot of Dean’s spine.

Dean shifted slightly, pushing back into Sam’s hips, deliberate and slow, and circled his ass against his little brother’s hard cock. There was no way it was an accident. His head tilted and Sam could see his eyes were open, bruised, irises glinting, sparking-flint as they captured the dim light.

“Want me?”

“Yes. Fuck. Always.”

Dean’s grip on his wrist was loose as he dragged Sam’s hand down his body. He was hard. Hot, his skin damp, and Dean closed Sam’s hand around his dick and thrust into it, and Sam’s control snapped. He twisted his other hand up between them, under Dean’s head, catching his neck in the crook of his arm, capturing him as he threw a leg over Dean. Spread Dean’s legs, rolled his brother back against him. Dean bucked into Sam’s fist, gasping for breath, not fighting. Rigid, thick and long, Dean’s cock was just like Jensen’s, and Sam was momentarily confused as to why it wasn’t slippery, wasn’t leaking slick, and the reality that it was _actually_ _Dean_ in his arms sent a spasm of pleasure through him so intense he squeezed until Dean grunted. He thrashed, impatient, bucking, and without thinking it through, Sam put his mouth to Dean’s neck. His teeth grazed scars and Dean whimpered, his cock throbbed in Sam’s hand.

“ _No_ ,” Sam hissed, moving away from Jared’s mark, lips to Dean’s ear. “You’re here with me, Dean. I’ve got you, no one else. I’m not letting you go. Right here with you.”

“Sam.”

“Yeah, Dean. I got you,” Sam said, twisting his wrist, rolling the head of Dean’s cock in his palm, then sliding down, ringing the base tight with his thumb and first two fingers then dragging back up. Dean kept his hand on Sam’s, lightly, fingertips caressing the back, pushing between his fingers, until the rhythm and speed of Sam jerking him off knocked his hand free. He brought it up, finding Sam’s face instead. Sam swiped his tongue across Dean’s palm, slid his lips around his fingers and Dean gasped as Sam sucked them into his mouth. His hips stuttered, and he came like that, long minutes later, fucking himself into Sam’s fist, banging his ass on Sam’s cock, and when it happened, he curled forward, his own hand pushing hard, forcing the hold until Sam could feel the blood pounding in Dean’s veins and his throat working to draw breath.

Sam leaned up and looked. Dean’s face was all twitches of pain, his tongue flicking behind his teeth, eyes slitted and rolling, and his come was bubbling out over the back of Sam’s other hand, and he had to jerk away before Dean made himself pass out.

Sam was aching, his own cock so hard and battered by Dean grinding against it. He pressed his hand over it, wiping Dean’s come into his underwear, and he could have come from just that wet stick over his skin, was sure that was how this was going to end for him—alone, jerking off into the hand that had been wrapped around Dean, but his brother surprised him again. He didn’t leave, or even roll away; he groped behind him and pulled at Sam, dragged them together until he was wrapped up in Sam’s arms and legs again, and he started talking.

“Never told you. You—Not-You. Not-Sam, that’s how I thought of him. Jared. Not-Sam. Jared, he knew Cas. Jimmy. Brothers. Dad, our Dad—Jared’s dad, he married their mom. Fucking angels. Michael, Gabriel, and—and—” No, he wouldn’t say that name to Sam right now. Wasn’t safe. Sam’s wall would itch. Sam knew anyway, let out a muted gasp; Dean’d given it away— _god, so stupid sometimes_ —and he hurried to cover it up, to move forward. “Cas. Jimmy. Jared and him, they fucked. Jared told me. You were thirteen, and he fucked you. God, can you believe it?”

“Dean—”

“Fucked for years. Grew up together. Brothers. Cas—Jimmy was a Beta, and he loved you. Jared. Told me. All kinds of kinky shit they did. Cas liked to be tied up, hurt. Have his dick whipped. Twisted. You wouldn’t let him come for days.”

“I’m not—”

“Not-Jared. Sam. Sam. He’d do this thing, he told me, could get it inside Cas’ mouth. The knot. Dick all the way down his throat, and he couldn’t breathe, and he’d fuck his face. Jimmy’s lips’d turn blue, swallowing around you, getting off from just that.”

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam whispered.

Dean fumbled behind him, between them, and tugged Sam’s hand down.

“Do that,” Dean said, wiggling.

Sam let him go, laying back, boxers hooked down over his hips under the blanket. Dean slung a leg over Sam’s and put his chin on Sam’s chest. In the predawn light, Dean was beautiful. Wild and mischievous, wounded. Open. Glittering eyes wide and glassy, lips wet, he was fucking perfect and Sam kissed him, hard and fast. Dean made a noise against his mouth, but only because he wanted to keep talking.

“Cas said me and you should be together, Sammy. Wanted you, too, I think. Said he did, when I was gone missin’. Did you know?”

Sam could only shake his head. Lick his lips. Taste candy and whisky and Dean. His cock was huge in his fist.

“Would you fuck him if you could?”

“No. I…don’t. I don’t know.”

Dean sat up abruptly and leaned over Sam, hands on his broad chest, fingers curling, digging in until Sam hissed.

“Don’t lie to me, Sam,” Dean insisted. “Never again. Promise me you’ll never lie to me. I need to know. You don’t… I just…want to know.”

“Yeah, okay. I promise, okay? Just calm down. You wanna know if I’d fuck Cas? Sure. I guess I would. I hadn’t really thought about it until I saw you with him. I wanted to know what it was like. What you felt. How _he_ felt. He, um, he’s the top, right? He fucks _you_ , doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. He did. I nailed him once, though. Was awesome.”

Sam’s laugh made Dean laugh and Sam watched him relax for the first time in days, probably. He lay back down on his side, tucking himself against Sam, and then his hand snaked down, dragging the covers away.

“Wanna see. Fuck, that’s big, Sammy.”

“Yeah.”

“Jens likes it, don’t he?”

“Mmhm.”

“You still do that… What you did. Your hand. When—you and him, how do you do that?”

“All the time. He’s pretty much designed for it.”

“Think I could? Like him?”

Sam laughed softly. “No.”

“Pff, why not?”

“Do you want to?”

“Oh. Well. Maybe not with you, yeti.” Another laugh. Dean sat up.

“What—”

“Let me help.”

 _YespleaseohgodDeanwantyousomuch_. “No.”

“The hell not?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re still drunk, Dean. Fucked up.”

He actually felt Dean sulk. Felt his fingers, too, sneaking under him, against his ribs, worrying their way down his side.

“Why do you want to?” Sam asked, his cock twitching against his stomach as he pulled on his balls.

“Just. Fuck, Sam. C’mon. Fine. Nothin’.”

“Damn, you and Jensen…”

“What?”

Sam kept his sigh to himself. _Always doing this to me_ , he thought even as he reached for Dean. _Need to feel_ , Jensen would say, vacant eyed and movements stilted. _Need help_ , Dean would never say. _Something, anything, nothing_ , the twins said, but Sam knew what it was, exactly: what only he could give them. Everything. Sam had control where they were flailing, Sam was dry land when they were drowning, too far out for their own good. He could save them. Someone else, anyone really, could change the moment, could fuck them or fight with them, give their minds a good stir to get them going again, but no one but Sam could rescue them, truly.

Sam made them feel like they mattered. Like they were worth the effort.

“Maybe Cas was right. And Jensen. We should have stayed together, Dean. I’m glad you made me back off before, but after… I wanted you to come back to me. Cas, too, if you wanted. Jensen said we could be a pack.”

“A pack?” Dean echoed, looking up with wide, excited eyes as Sam rolled over and onto him, shoving his way between Dean’s legs and kneeling there, one hand on Dean’s ribs, the other on his own cock.

“The four of us together, yeah. I know you want me. Jensen likes you. You scare him a little, but he likes you, liked fucking you, too. I know I fuckin’ liked it. My stupid brother and my crazy omega,” Sam let out a laugh, “fucking. The hottest thing I’d ever seen. And if Cas wanted to join us, I wouldn’t have told him no. Might have been weird, two of the four being invisible to each other. Wonder how that would’ve looked to Jensen? You gettin’ fucked by Cas, would it just be you with your ass open?”

Dean cackled at that, eyes flickering between Sam’s face and his hand where it was stroking steadily along his dick. “Seen anime like that,” he said, reaching out.

Sam slapped him. It left his fingers tingling and lines on his brother’s face.

“Don’t touch,” he said, thrusting his body forward, spreading Dean’s legs wider, and slapped him again. Dean arched his back and made a sound that went through Sam like lightning. The blow turned Dean’s head and his eyes squeezed shut, but he put his hands on the bed, fingers curling into the sheets. Sam pressed his free hand back down onto Dean’s chest, forcing another gasp of air out of him with the pressure.

“Look at me, Dean.”

Eyes like green glass, shattered and bright, opened, slid up to his, and Dean’s face slowly came to the fore again. His lips parted, pink and wet as he slipped his tongue between them. He flinched at the lifted hand, but Sam didn’t strike again. Instead, he thumbed along Dean’s jaw, feeling the scratch of days-old stubble on his skin, and then he clamped down on Dean’s throat, high up, a quickening pulse under his grip.

“You liked that, huh? Getting slapped?”

Dean nodded and sucked his bottom lip between his teeth but seemed to think better of it and let it go and Sam had to stop himself from moaning as the soft skin popped free.

“Figures,” Sam said, tearing his eyes away from Dean’s lips. “Never asked Cas to, did you?”

A shake this time. Dean was breathing carefully through Sam’s grasp, nostrils flared, his pulse pounding now. Sam let go of his cock and smacked Dean again, and again. Again, until he bucked, made a strangled noise, pain and pleasure tangled together, and Sam clamped his hand across his mouth and nose. Dean began to struggle, his breathing cut off. He kept his own hands down on the bed.

Sam held on, counting in his head, knowing Dean had stamina, and when he took the hand off Dean’s mouth finally, the gasp his brother made was automatic, animal-need, ragged, and Sam only let him have half of it. The other half came from his own lungs as he sealed his lips over Dean’s, the inhalation continuing, drawing his breath out with the force of it. Sam chased the air, diving to the back of Dean’s mouth, licking molars, his tongue twisting around Dean’s. A whine snaked out of Sam’s grasp, into his mouth, and he bit down.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean’s hands twitch, clutch at the blankets, but he was ever the good soldier. Sam smiled and let go just this-side of drawing blood, but he stayed leaning over Dean, hand to his throat. He thrust his hips again, splaying his legs wide and grinding down. Dean groaned and it might have been Sam’s name, and he pushed his lower body up as much as he could, urging Sam to rut against him.

Sam wanted to fuck him, and Dean would let him, but he knew Dean would be doing just that: letting him. Because Sam wanted it, and Dean needed to be wanted. He knew sex wasn’t the hard part for Dean. Denying Dean everything would hurt him more than he could take right now, but taking everything _he_ wanted would jam another wedge between them. But maybe this, what he was doing now, god, what he was doing, how Dean felt, Dean underneath him, warm and strong and submissively open, maybe, just maybe, this would show Dean that Sam could be trusted. He would always be there for him, to give him what he needed, to never take more than Dean could afford to lose.

Dean’s face was between his palms, though he couldn’t say when he’d moved his hands. Dean’s left cheek was hot, stained, darker than the other, almost the same colour as his lips. The only other colour in the room were his emerald eyes and they stayed open, lips and eyes, as Sam kissed him again. It was confirmation of life, Sam realised; Dean looking at him was everything. If he could see Dean, he was alive, and Dean was alive and there was reason to keep living.

Sam clambered forward, banging his knees into Dean’s legs and against his ribs as he straddled him. Forehead against the wall, looking down at everything that mattered, he grabbed his cock and rubbed it along Dean’s throat. Dean huffed a laugh, but the dawn was breaking and Sam could see Dean’s expression in the morning light. See his wide pupils and his wet mouth and Dean’s heart was pounding under Sam’s balls where he was practically sitting on Dean’s chest, pressing the sensitive underside of his dick on the nub of Dean’s Adam’s apple, the head against Dean’s sharp jaw, against his lips. Sam’s knuckles were wet from Dean’s flicking tongue and warm from his encouraging nonsensical murmurs. Dean’s lashes fluttered and fanned his cock as Sam’s orgasm jerked him into a bow, hips thrusting at nothing. His come spilled across Dean’s cheek, his throat, pooled at the base of his neck and trickled over his shoulders. Blind for a long second, Sam could only pant Dean’s name, fingers clawing at the wall to hold himself up.

Sam felt a slight tug and pull to his body and heard his name being whispered quietly.

“Sam. Sam, get off. No, _ow_ , that way,” Dean grumbled, pushing with his free hand against Sam’s hip.

“Shit, sorry, ’m sorry,” Sam said, tumbling over, off of Dean’s arm where his shin had been pinning it. He collapsed onto the bed, watching numbly as Dean hugged his left arm to his belly, using his right to fist the sheet against his neck, wiping carelessly.

“’S okay. Didn’t break it this time.”

“This time?” Sam asked, confused, but Dean’s eyes were closed. He didn’t answer and didn’t protest when Sam pulled on him, dragged him out of the wet spot and closer, into his arms.

“Hey, Dean?”

“Hm.”

“I love you, you know that, right?”

“ _Shh_!” was the reply, and Dean moved onto his side, his back to Sam, but he stayed still as Sam adjusted. Like returning to the starting position, he fitted himself around Dean from behind, one hand splayed over his spine, the other on his hip under the covers. He kissed Dean’s shoulder, tasted his own come mixed with Dean’s apple-wood-smoke sweat, and sleep ghosted around them both.


	8. Chapter 8

Pain woke Dean up. That wasn’t unusual. It was almost comforting, really. Not as comforting as Sam’s breath on the back of his neck, but pain he knew how to deal with.

Sam wasn’t touching him _thank god_ and Dean was out of the bed and across the room, bag in hand and bathroom door shut between himself and last night before Sam could…well, anything. Sigh, groan, wake up, touch him. Look at him. Fucking talk.

 _I look like warmed-over poop,_ he thought, inspecting himself in the mirror. There was a dark bruise on his jaw, and his teeth hurt, felt a little loose in their sockets. His right knuckles were sore, cut, and he tried to remember why. Looking down, there were bruises on his thighs.

“Goddammit,” he whispered, flexing his left wrist cautiously. He wasn’t sure Alastair had done the best job binding the fracture Jared had given him. He glanced back up at his reflection, finally noticing the flaking traces of Sam’s come like a broken necklace across his throat.

“ _Goddammit_.”

Sam was awake and mercifully on the phone when he emerged from the bathroom, showered and starving.

“Breakfast,” he tossed Sam’s way and didn’t care how frantic he looked as he threw himself out the door and into the too-bright afternoon.

It was a good thing there was a diner across the street, because, as Dean squinted and surveyed and searched his pockets for keys he suddenly remembered Sam had, he realised he had no idea where they were, and there was no way he was going back inside yet.

He ordered for one and ate his food, crunching up aspirin he’d begged off Denise-the-waitress with a mouthful of thick ham.

 _…Breakfast every hour, it could save the world,_ he remembered, thought of Lisa, and wanted to throw everything back up.

He called Denise over and ordered for Sam: scrambled eggs and a bran muffin, a couple pieces of turkey sausage.

_…An angel’s face is tricky to wear constantly…_

The sky outside was the colour of Castiel’s eyes, the hills in the distance the same shade of tan as that damn coat. The digital clock on the bank sign down the street said it was a quarter to two, but there wasn’t a liquor store in sight. He sighed and tapped on the motel door.

“Choke this down, if you can,” Dean said, shoving the carton of food at him as soon as Sam opened the door.

“Uh, thanks. Dean, listen—”

“Do I have to?” he said, brushing past Sam, scanning the desk and table for his keys. “I’d rather go out for a refill. Think I tapped out last night, didn’t I? Where are the—”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the white take-out box hit the bed and miraculously stay closed, and he knew what was coming even if there was no time to prepare. Sam had him up against the wall so fast their feet got tangled and he almost went down, but Sam jammed his knee between Dean’s legs so he was just about riding it, and he gasped despite himself at the close-call, for the floor and his balls.

“Hey! That—”

Sam’s mouth crashed into his, open, tongue pushing. He was all cheap soap and single-serving shampoo, Orange Crush and motel coffee, everything familiar and important and _Sam_ and for a moment Dean didn’t even care that the door was still open and he was kissing his brother and his angel was gone and life was shit.

For a moment.

Dean forced his hands to let go of Sam’s shirt, and then he pushed, but Sam’s teeth snagged his lip and bit down and Dean quit pushing. He moaned at the sensation, and Sam let go only to get a better grip, worrying the flesh between his teeth. His lashes lifted as Dean opened his, and the whole world was there, too, kaleidoscopic.

Dean ran his tongue over Sam’s teeth where they were still sunk into his lip, coaxing him to release it, and he cupped Sam’s face, gently, telling himself he was only being patient and clever.

Sam’s bite relaxed, and his too-wide tongue slipped against Dean’s. He stepped closer. Some kind of noise left his throat; Dean felt it vibrate through Sam’s jaw, and he had to stop this now or he wasn’t going to be able to. Sam was off balance, just enough. Close, distracted, his skin hot under Dean’s hands, and Dean shoved him again, this time using a handful of hair along with a palm to Sam’s chest to push him.

Sam stumbled back but he tried to catch Dean’s wrist as he went. Dean deflected the grab and pushed again, getting himself away from the wall in the process. He sidestepped Sam and slammed the door closed. The bed behind him squeaked loudly, Sam’s heavy frame compressing it when he couldn’t keep his footing. Dean rounded on him and put both hands up in surrender.

“Okay, look. We’re not talking about anything. I was shit-faced last night and you were _real sweet_ and all, but you knew I was drunk, and stuff like that does not count. Last night shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Shouldn’t have—like you were gonna take it out on everyone at that bar? Like I’m just some random stranger?”

When Dean blinked, Sam threw his hands up.

“You don’t even fucking remember do you?”

“Sure I do. Remind me, though.”

“Damn it, Dean. Hustling pool, pissing off the locals, some barfly with blonde hair and a cold sore? Me dragging you out of there?”

“Uck. No. Well, thanks then, I guess? I’m sure I woulda traded her in. Probably just getting warmed up. Wait… Oh, sorry for punching you, too.”

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t want your apology.”

“What do you want? Wait, no—”

“You know. You want it, too. Why are you being such an idiot?” Sam cried, exasperated. He stood, and gave a hurt look when his older brother stepped back.

“I don’t—you don’t know what I want,” Dean said, frowning, looking at nothing somewhere near Sam’s right shoulder. “I wanted some ass last night, but you had to drag me off, apparently.”

“Are you just gonna bang girls you don’t even like the rest of your life? Drown everything else in booze and killing things?”

“Well, yeah. What the fuck is wrong with that?”

“You’re what’s wrong with that. You’re barely holding on, man.”

 _Not holding on at all._ “Yeah, well, I was holding onto Cas, wasn’t I?” _Or I wouldn’t have just said that. Fuck._

“He didn’t just lie to you, Dean. He lied to all of us.”

“And you’ve lied to me before, too.”

Sam rocked back on his heels. “That is it, huh? You don’t think you can trust me?”

“I just don’t know anymore, Sam. I can’t fucking _take it_ anymore. I know I can trust _me,_ okay? I know if I keep my distance from everyone, I don’t hurt as much. Some broad doesn’t have much over me if I need some cuddle time, get it? So, yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“What am _I_ supposed to do?”

“Be my little brother. Sit shotgun, bitch about the music and fast food and be a better hunter than I am, and just, just be there.”

“Be there for you.”

“Yeah, Sam. I need you. I always have.”

“But you don’t want me.”

“I want you next to me.”

“Dean.”

“Don’t wanna be there anymore? Not good enough for you anymore? Then, please, Sammy, just go.”

“You know I’m not going to leave.”

“Then what, for chrissake? What’s the fucking look for?”

“I just. I can’t believe, after all of this, that you’d still be so selfish. So scared.”

“Selfish—what the hell?”

“You’ve been like this my entire life, know that? Always wanting me around, needing me to fulfill some role in your life so you can be whole. Have some purpose. But you’ve never stopped and thought about my purpose. What I need. No, stop. You’re it, Dean. All I’ve ever known. From day one. Everything that I am, who I am, is because of you. Dad showed me what I _didn’t_ want to be. I wanted to be like you, but more than that, I wanted to be someone you would love.”

“Fuck, Sammy—”

“Yeah, someone you would fuck. Be friends with, lovers, brothers. Whatever, the words don’t matter. I just want to be with you.”

“I can’t.”

“Yeah? Look me in the eye and say that.”

Dean looked up.

It had taken a long time to untangle Jared from Sam. One of the tricks he’d used was not looking at his brother. Listening, it was easy to tell them apart, from the words they used to the way they used them. More importantly, he listened to the silence between them. He listened hard to what Sam wasn’t saying. And he heard nothing. No unspoken demands, no quiet angst. No wordless need or want or why or let’s talk about it.

So then Dean breathed. Sam’s smell. Dean’s senses had waned over time, but he could still pick up on Sam’s orange peel sweat, and he had grown to like it. Once the chemically induced heat had faded, had stopped driving him nearly mad with lust and need for Sam, for the closest Alpha, it had actually become sort of soothing. He had felt lost in the woods around Jared. No way out, only farther in, trapped. Sam was a summer day, like so many they’d spent together. Never lost, never alone.

Sam hadn’t touched him for a long time after, for his own reasons, Dean was sure. He hadn't realised until it was gone just how often they were in contact: an arm grabbed during hunts to help him up or jerk him to safety, a slap on the back to let each other know they were okay when they were too winded to say so, hugs when words they’d never been taught quite how to say would have worked. 

He had loved Jared. Or something. It hadn’t been his fault, he’d insisted to Jensen and to himself, but it had still happened, and between Jared dying in his arms and ending up in Sam’s a day later, Dean had nailed it down as guilt cake with hormone frosting that he’d taken a big ol’ bite out of. He’d been too confused, too distraught, more so than he’d ever admit to anyone but his own very, very drunken self, to separate Jared and Sam, hell, to even keep himself and Jensen from mingling in his mind and memories, and every time he’d looked at Sam, he’d gotten confused again. Wanted, feared, lusted. So he hadn’t looked.

By not looking at him, Dean had been able to rebuild them both. It took a lot longer to re-imagine himself than it did Sam, to patch the crumbling fortress of his ego and id, and his body. And his heart. Dean needed things to be the same as they had been before he’d been taken away, before he’d been drugged and raped, had given up hope and fallen in love, way before he’d fought with and fucked and ran from Sam.

And things had slowly improved.

Now, looking at Sam, Dean was aware the first thought wasn’t of the dead Alpha that had shared his brother’s face. Nor was it shame and a flash of Sam’s body above his, in his. This was good. More improvements. Except. Sam’s eyes. His own were green again. Mostly. No one had mentioned it—but then, he’d not let anyone get close enough to really look except for Castiel, and the angel had known better than to say anything—but there were still black flecks in his eyes, chips of flint that captured light and spat out silvery sparks. But it wasn’t that he was still, probably forever, marked by what he’d gone through that made it like pushing a rope uphill to look into his little brother’s eyes. It was what Dean knew he’d find there. What he couldn’t not see. Couldn’t ignore or think was something other than exactly what it was.

Love. Just. Love. Nothing else. And nothing had changed. It had always been there, just like it was now.

Dean looked, and he knew. He saw it. Sam loved him. Loved every last thing about him, even the things he didn’t really like.

Sam’s lips twitched and he cocked his head. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because I’ve lost my freakin’ mind.”

“Nah,” Sam said, chuckling, “you never really had it to lose. C’mon, Dean. You asked me to wait for you, and I have. I told you what happened wouldn’t change anything between us, and it hasn’t, at least not for me, and I didn’t do anything special to make it that way for you. I’ve been me. And it’s been okay, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he had to concede.

“I know it’s been tough on you, everything you went through. And now, with Cas pulling this. I just want to be here for you. Anything you need, Dean. You don’t have to be just my big brother all the time, okay? And honestly, I can’t be your Sammy all the time anymore. We’re too old for this crap, man. I know who I am and I know what I want, and I also know what I can’t take any fucking more of.”

“And what’s that?” Dean asked, hand to his forehead, eyes closed.

“You alright?”

“I’m _fine_ , Sam. Spit it out and we can go get something to drink, yeah?”

“Hey,” Sam said, and Dean could tell he’d taken a few steps closer. He opened his eyes, knowing that’s what Sam wanted, that it would keep him back.

“Dean, I can’t just be here for you and not get anything back. Do you understand? I don’t know how to do that anymore. I don’t _want_ to do that anymore. I need…to be able to touch you. To have you feel real, like…like you’re not just a ghost of my brother, or, or, fuck, Dean, that you’re not Jensen. Sometimes it’s hard—”

“Dude, I know, okay? You don’t think—” Dean clamped down on the rest of the thought.

Sam’s expression softened and he nodded. “I thought I wanted other people,” he said. “I loved Jess, but she was…like you. Jensen, he’s like you. Not that I don’t love them for them, you know? But I keep loving people that aren’t you because they remind me of you somehow. I just want you.”

Dean said nothing. He could say the same things, and he knew Sam knew it, too.

“You’ve always wanted me around. Wanted my attention. You’ve always had it, okay? But what about the rest of it? I fuckin’—Dean, I’m dying inside. I know that sounds lame, but it’s true. It’s like you only want me around you because it makes you feel good, and because it’s your duty. I need more than that. Just like you need more. I know you do. I know what you need, Dean. I’ve been paying attention to you my whole fucking life, and I know what you need.”

He couldn’t ask what it was, couldn’t be a jerk, be defensive or evasive or cutting, couldn’t brush Sam off with sarcasm. He could only blink rapidly and bite his lip and wait for it.

“You need to let go sometimes. Not be the strong one. You need affection. You need to feel something other than the pain and all the weird shit we go through. And you think pit stops with random chicks, or guys, or _whatever_ , you think that’s enough. But it’s not. It has never been because they don’t know who you are. They don’t know _why_. I do. Jensen does. So does Castiel, but you know what? Even with Cas, you’re still guarded because you feel like somehow it’s all your fault he’s fallen.”

“Feel like you’re all my fault, too.”

“But I’m not. Dean, remember what you said Alastair told you? That me and you, we’re together no matter what, no matter where. That there’s a universe out there full of us, and we’re together. It’s not you. You didn’t do this to me. We _are_ these things. I need you, more than ever. Nothing has to change. I promised you that once before, and I mean it.”

“Isn’t it just…sex? Is it really that big of a deal, Sam?”

“Well, if it’s not that big of a deal, then why not?”

“Shit.” Dean’s eyes shot to the floor again when Sam laughed outright at him. 

“God, you’re dumb sometimes.”

“Bitch.”

When Sam didn’t say anything, Dean glanced back up at him. He was just a little closer. _Sneaky, light-footed bastard._

“Dean.”

It crumbled. All of it. His carefully constructed walls, his rebuilt citadel of pride and self, the patches he’d slapped over who Sam really was, what he meant to Dean, just fucking everything. Blasted away with Sam’s voice saying his name. A great deluge of bullshit and fear and false fronts and lies to himself and Sam, and all of it sloughed off.

Sam waited for him. Waited for the dust to settle. He didn’t ask, didn’t encourage, didn’t presume, especially didn’t take. He stood there and let Dean come to him, and when he did, when Dean’s arms slid around his ribs and clutched at his shirt, Sam only hugged him back, one hand resting lightly on the back of his brother’s head, the other low, his thumb brushing over Dean’s spine.

“Promise?” Dean’s muffled voice asked from where his face was buried against Sam’s shoulder.

“Promise. Don’t leave.”

“Won’t.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dean drove, and he panicked. Internally, he hoped, though he was sure a few head to toe spasms escaped him as his body responded to the hangman’s drop of his emotions. His body was responding to a lot of things, really. He’d been drinking way too much lately, and sucking down bottled water did nothing for the tremors he felt starting deep down in his bones. All that did was put pressure on his bladder and _that_ made him uncomfortable and half-hard and he couldn’t figure out if he wanted Sam to notice or not. How the hell was he going to do this? He’d spent his whole life _not_ having sex with the person next to him and now it was inevitable. It was looming in the distance; in an hour, tonight, the next day, _eventually_ it would happen and he’d be on his knees for his little brother’s dick and how the fuck did Sam look so calm sitting over there, flipping through his phone or staring out the window?

Sam promised: nothing had changed, and nothing would change. No one would know. How could they not know? The demons would know, pervy fuckers would find out one way or another. Then the angels would know if they didn’t already and jesus christ on a cracker what if word leaked into Heaven? What if their  _dad_ found out?

“ _Fuck_.”

“Huh?” Sam looked over at him. And, for the first time in a long time, now that he _could_ look, could stare at, could study his little brother, he saw how skinny Sam was.

“Dude, when’s the last time you had more than one meal a day?” Dean asked, everything else forgotten.

Sam frowned, his lips pulling down. “I dunno, man. I eat. Just had a lot going on lately.”

“Whatever. You’ve always been a weirdo about food. Why is that?”

“What, ’cause I balked at eating the gas station crap you and Dad lived on? It just got old. Easier to skip a meal than feel like I had garbage inside me. Guess it’s just habit now. Don’t really think about it.”

“Don’t you get hungry? I get fuckin’ pissed off if I need to eat. Maybe that’s why you’re so grumpy all the time. Did you even eat what I brought you this morning?”

Sam shrugged and looked out the window again. Glancing between him and the road, Dean decided he didn’t care what anyone else thought about them or knew about them. Sam was the only thing that mattered.

“You get delivery out in the sticks? Like, pizza?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I wanna see you put food in your mouth. Fuck, did that sound kinky?”

“You got a fetish I need to know about?” laughed Sam, and Dean dug his teeth into his lip to keep from grinning. There it was. The first actual flirtation, the first awkward acknowledgement of what was happening, and they were both amused by it, as if it were any normal joke between them. Dean took a deep breath and urged the Impala to go faster.

“Hey, Dean? Man, I gotta say something. Back there, with those demons, before, you know, the, um, hospital. And all that. Seriously, how high were you?”

“Sammy—”

“No, really. I mean, I don’t want to know. I saw. I keep expecting you to get all itchy-palmed any second now. You can’t fuck around with shit like that, you know?”

“I wasn’t fucking around. I knew what I was doing, but I hear you. Look, you don’t go anorexic on me and I won’t turn into an e-tard tweeker, okay?”

“Yeah. Fair enough,” Sam said, then raised an eyebrow and pulled his hair back from his eyes to inspect Dean as if he was suddenly unsure it was really his brother driving the car. “When did you ever take ecstasy?”

Dean pursed his lips, thinking. Sam watched him fidget and saw colour bloom on his cheeks.

“Oh, I don’t know when, but a couple…ten times, maybe? And last night.”

“You were rolling last night?”

Dean laughed and shot Sam an approving look. “‘Rolling?’ Well, listen to you, college boy. You know a little something about it yourself, dontcha?”

“No, Dean. I just fuckin’…babysat Brady a few times.”

“Yeah? He like to pet your hair and tell you how pretty you are, I bet.”

“Dude. Where did you get it last night? That blonde?”

“Must have been. C’mon, Sammy, don’t look so surprised. When am I ever that chatty, or fuckin’ cuddly, for that matter, huh?”

“True. You cried, too.”

“Shut up. There’s the exit to Bobby’s house. Where do I go from here?”

Sam directed him around the city’s east edge and north, parallel along the Big Sioux River for awhile, and then down the little lane to the house.

They could hear the music over the engine, it was up so loud. Louder still was Jensen’s voice.

“He sings?”

“I cannot get him to stop, honestly. Got a nice voice. Hunting gets old, we can start a band.”

“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“You can play the cowbell.”

“I take it back. Best idea ever. Wait, is that… The Cure?”

“I know. And he’s really into Marilyn Manson.”

“I always thought we should maybe hunt that guy. Danzig, too.”

Sam laughed and, most of the bags in hand, headed into the din. Dean lingered outside, rubbing a licked-wet thumb over a scratch on the Impala’s hood.

“Almost had me convinced,” he muttered.

He squinted at the house. It looked cozy enough. Wood shake outside. Needed a new roof, or at least some moss-be-gone. He liked the smell of the area. Trees were tall, blocked a lot of sound from the road. The music had died and it was otherwise silent now except for the pop and ping of the car’s cooling engine.

He wondered what Sam was telling Jensen. He hoped it was mostly everything, in a way. Dean was tired of trying to explain things, of figuring things out. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed at _what_ Sam might be telling him. Dean was here. This was it.

“Wish you were here,” he said, pressing the whorls of his fingertips into the scratch. But he didn’t want to think about the angel, _wouldn’t_ be if he hadn’t noticed the mark. Didn’t want to call him down, though he somehow knew Cas was going to leave them alone for now. That whatever he was doing, he didn’t want to endanger them any more than starting the fucking Apocalypse all over again was going to. Maybe he wouldn’t come at all, ever again.

“Stupid,” he whispered. Castiel _almost_ had him convinced. That they were meant to be.

_Special. Should have known better. Team Free Will, right? There’s no hall pass from God, no get outta Hell free card._

Cas _had_ been pushing him towards Sam, had his own agenda and Dean had been in the way.

“It’s pretty out here, huh?” Jensen said.

Dean nodded automatically, moving away from the car as if Jensen would see the scratch in the hood, would somehow know what he’d been thinking, that he was feeling sorry for himself and betrayed. It made him feel even more like an asshole for feeling those things when Jensen hugged him, as warm and welcoming as he ever was.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s nice,” Dean said belatedly. “The trees. Smells good.”

The smile Jensen gave was slow, secretive like he was waiting for Dean to solve a riddle he already had the answer to.

“Does, doesn’t it?” Jensen agreed. He plucked at Dean’s jacket sleeve. “C’mon. Sam’s ordering pizza.”

They ate together in the front room of the house, seated on second-hand furniture Jensen had tracked down on Craigslist, Dean in an overstuffed maroon chair, Sam and Jensen on the matching couch. A look from Dean was all it took to get Sam to eat two pizza slices more than he wanted to, but Dean was content with that, and truth be told, it _was_ kind of hot watching Sam eat. Hot watching him do most anything, he realised. Meticulous, careful, even graceful, all slender fingers and a wide mouth, quick to smile at him or at Jensen. When he stretched his mile-long legs out, hands almost obscuring the bottle resting between them, as his eyes followed Jensen tossing some crusts out into the yard so they could watch the crows fight over them from the big front window, and Sam laughed, Dean also realised he was, and always had been, pretty much in love with his brother.

Still laughing, Sam caught Dean’s eye, caught him outright staring, and he winked, and Dean’s stomach did that thing when the car swooped down an unexpected hill.

When it got dark and the crows went to roost, Jensen closed the curtains and Sam wandered outside to call Bobby and check the perimeter sigils.

“Good thing the trees are too tall here to grow a garden, anyway. All the salt that’s gonna build up eventually is gonna make the soil bad,” Jensen said, using a restaurant-style sugar dispenser to fill in the lines along the window the curtains had broken. “I’ve gotten used to it being everywhere. Underfoot, in the bed. Like sand.”

Sam returned and reported Bobby had come up with nothing so far on how to stop Castiel, keep Purgatory locked and kill Crowley. Then he stopped talking when Dean didn’t respond to him, either. Dean just sat in his chair, picking at the label on his beer, looking lost in thought. Or like he was seeing a live dinosaur for the first time. Awestruck, slightly horrified. Jensen shrugged when Sam gave him a quizzical look.

“I’m gonna go shower,” Sam finally said. Jensen nodded but made no move to follow, a quick tilt of his head telling Sam he’d stay with Dean.

“You’re good,” Sam said, lips against his cheek.

Jensen finished checking the salt lines, laying a new one across the front door, and then sat on the couch. Dean almost had the label completely free from the bottle in one piece. He glanced up, feeling watched.

“What?” he asked, drawing back at the way Jensen was staring.

“I’m gonna have a baby.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. He tried to recover, to smooth his expression, but fuckin’ biology. He grinned. Like an idiot. He covered his mouth with his hand, scrubbed his jaw, tried to look away from Jensen but he couldn’t. Dean laughed. Just a giddy sound escaped him, and then so did tears. Not full on crying, but his sinuses burned, his eyes filled. He blinked them back and took a deep breath in through his nose, and he could smell it. Something just a little different, a little _more_ , to the omega’s scent. Like the faintest whiff of lime.

 _Put the lime in the coconut,_ his mind supplied.

“Uh, wow, Jen. Um. Sam. Does he know? He doesn’t know.”

“No. Don’t tell him.”

All of his happiness disappeared. “Why not? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I mean—I just don’t know. If it will be. The baby. Be okay. We’re not…the same, Dean. Me and Sam. I’m honestly scared. That it might be messed up somehow.”

Dean shot out of his chair and knelt down next to Jensen. “It will be fine, okay? You can’t think shit like that. We’ll, uh, find someone. To look. What, an ultrasound, right? Check it out. We’ve gotta know someone. I’ll ask Bobby—”

“No, Dean. I don’t want anyone else to know yet. I shouldn’t have told you, but I needed someone to talk to. I just don’t know if I should. Have it.”

“Okay, Jensen. But you gotta let me help you. We’ll figure something out. Just don’t do anything. Before we can see. Do you feel okay? I mean, there’s nothin’ wrong now, is there?”

Jensen shrugged. He leaned back and Dean could see how tired he was. His eyes were dark, the usual flash and flare in them dull, and he looked drawn, pale. His hand twitched like he wanted to put it on his belly but did not. Dean took it up and sat next to him on the couch. Jensen smiled at him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jensen said.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know if anything is wrong. I’ve never been knocked up before. I feel like crap, to be honest. Sick during the day, tired. Can’t sleep, though. I’m worried.”

“About?”

“It being a monster.”

“Jesus, Jen. Why would you say that?”

“What if it’s an Alpha? What if it has teeth like one? What if it’s got omega eyes and can’t go anywhere without being noticed? What if it gets sick and a doctor notices it’s different? Blood tests, physicals; will it be human enough? What if it’s something else entirely? What the angels did… What Sam’s been through, with the—the demon blood… Do you know what I mean? Dean, what if it’s something you would hunt, if you didn’t know better? You hunters, I’ve figured it out, you know. You guys, most of you will go after anything that’s not completely human.”

“Hey, no matter what, we’ll protect you and the baby.”

“So, the answer to that is yes. It might be something someone would kill.”

“Jensen, no. We will figure it out.”

“We’re gonna have to.” Jensen gave him another thin smile and Dean wondered if the crows-feet around his own eyes were becoming so prominent. It wasn’t often he smiled at himself in the mirror.

“So, how long?”

“About four months. I went into heat a few weeks after I got here. It’s not Sam’s fault. I begged him. You know how it is.”

Dean blushed, but Jensen wouldn’t give him his hand back when he tried to withdraw. They sat in silence for awhile, and Dean knew he was being looked at.

“Don’t,” he warned when he felt Jensen take a breath to speak. “I’m not gonna talk about any of that. Not anymore. There’s nothing left to discuss.”

When Jensen brought Dean’s hand to his lips and kissed his fingers, Dean shot a surprised glance at him.

“Okay, I won’t. I’m glad you’re here,” his other said again.

The shower stopped running. They could hear Sam rummaging around in the bathroom and Jensen shifted, chewing his cheek. He looked down the hallway. When he turned back, Dean blinked at the sly gleam in Jensen’s eyes.

“Uh, look, I’ll be alright,” Dean said. “You go on. Sam missed you. I’m just gonna sleep on the couch, okay?”

“No, you aren’t,” Jensen scoffed.

“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re the only omega here now, kid. What?”

“Okay, Mr. Winchester, you just keep tellin’ yourself that.”

“What, no. Seriously though. You can’t—I don’t—do I still smell like it? I don’t do, um, anything else. Like an omega does. I’m _not_.”

Jensen’s eyebrow rose. “Really? No more heats, no more slick, no more need for an Alpha, huh?”

“Damn it, Jensen.”

Jensen laughed at him, but there was a sad note in the gale. “No, Dean. It’s almost like it never happened to you, to be honest.”

 _Wish it hadn’t ever happened,_ Dean almost said, a reflex. But there was nothing behind it anymore. None of the angst and anger and revulsion. He couldn’t be disgusted at something that had made his little brother’s life better. Wasn’t that the point, after all? Wasn’t that what he’d spent his whole life trying to accomplish? How many times had he suffered through something that had benefited Sam? He’d do it all again—Jared, Alastair, the heat, Cas—if this is what Sam really wanted.

He stood, grabbing the empty bottles and plates and the clatter of them going into the sink masked Jensen following him, closing in on him, but he caught the sweet, tropical scent of the omega a second before he felt him. Jensen wrapped his arms around Dean from behind and slotted his body against Dean’s, pushing until Dean had to grab the counter to keep from banging his hips into it.

“Hey, c’mon—”

“ _You_ come on,” Jensen said, lips against the back of Dean’s neck, and damn it, that sent pleasure flaring down his spine so fast and bright Dean’s breath tripped in his throat. Jensen pushed again, and Dean resisted, playing along despite himself, letting Jensen seal their bodies together. Something hard pressed against his ass, rigid and unyielding.

“What is _that_?” Dean asked, trying to reach between them. Jensen laughed and Dean felt teeth against his neck, biting just enough to distract him.

“Come to bed with us and find out,” he said, retreating and out of the kitchen before Dean could turn and catch him.

“Damn it,” Dean said again, his cock half-hard and his mind blessedly quiet. It must be Jensen, he realised. Maybe being pregnant gave off some kind of calming hormone that he could still pick up on? Something that soothed Dean, made him feel at peace and in his place. At home. He hadn’t wanted to feel this way so quickly. He’d intended to be bristly, to keep Sam at bay, and wanted Sam to keep his Alpha bullshit to himself. Dean wanted to resist the idea that they could all be together so quickly, that he could be comfortable here; his brother’s lover, and Jensen’s too, if the way his feet were carrying him down the hallway so effortlessly, even eagerly, was any indication of how he truly felt.

The smell of new paint in the hallway did little to disguise what he was walking into. There was no mistaking the heady scent of Sam’s pleasure and Jensen’s slick, like a fog settled outside their door. Dean peeked around the doorway.

The room was small and lit with a pleasant cherry glow by red-shaded lamps. Jensen had coated the walls with an almost shiny grey colour, silver really, and the window and door frames and trimming along the floor were a muted plum-purple. A large closet took up half of one wall and there was just enough room for two pallet-made, black-painted nightstands on either side of the biggest bed Dean had ever seen, draped with layers of thin blankets in varying shades of grey. A low, armless chair was set in the corner across from the foot of the bed. It, too, was covered with a blanket. For easy cleaning, Dean guessed immediately.

His brother, naked, still damp from the shower, was sprawled in it, Jensen straddling him, shirt off, pants undone. They were hardly moving compared to what Dean knew of Sam, what he remembered. Sam had been everywhere at once. Hands groping, huge and strong, mouth open and wet and all tongue and teeth. Long legs, long arms, a heavy, solid body that he used to pin and capture. But the couple were moving like a slow stream, languid and rolling together, and something about it made Dean so absurdly pleased. He was sick of desperation. Tired of feeling like every moment was their last. It was good to know that Sam and Jensen had found time to calm down, that they had learned to go slow and enjoy each other.

“The couch, huh?” Sam said over Jensen’s shoulder and Dean jumped, not knowing when he’d come out of hiding, when he’d taken two steps into the room.

“Well. Okay, but…he’s sleeping in the middle,” Dean retorted, blushing and stumbling himself onto the bed and pulling at the laces of his boots. “Anyway, don’t mind me. I’ll just, uh, watch. Or something.”

Sam snorted but said nothing else, turning his attention back to Jensen.

“Been good while I was gone?” Sam asked, letting Jensen blur the words with his dabbing tongue, lick them from his mouth.

“Uh huh. Missed you.”

“Me, too. God, you smell nice,” Sam said, burying his face into Jensen’s neck, and then there were teeth, Sam scraping them along neck and shoulder, making Jensen shudder in his arms.

“ _Mine_ ,” he growled, and Jensen let out a low, panted noise, an affirmation that Dean wanted to echo, that brought Jared to mind so vividly he expected Sam to have fangs when he lifted his face from Jensen’s shoulder and smiled up at him. He squirmed on the bed, trying to not to make it obvious he was moving away. The couch was suddenly not an option. Dean felt like he should run. Get in his car and floor it, get away, go somewhere safe. Find Sam. But this _was_ Sam.

Dean tried to breathe, tried to keep calm, to not let panic and memories and past trauma at the hands of his little brother’s identical Alpha twin take hold of him. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the new-paint smell, on Jensen’s tropical calm, on grounding himself here and now. He could hear them kissing and laughing softly, heard Jensen’s voice whispering. He was here, Jensen was in the room with him, so Dean couldn’t be _there_ , where he’d been lost and hurt and raped—

“Dean?”

Sam’s voice opened his eyes. Jensen was tracing his fingers over Sam’s chest, his face turned away from Dean. Sam was looking right at him, but the concern Dean heard in the word was doing nothing to dampen Sam’s arousal, that much was obvious.

Dean swallowed and managed, “Hm?”

A gesture and Sam beckoned him, and as much as Dean wanted to leave, to at least stay right where he was, deep down he knew if he didn’t fight his instincts they would continue to keep him scared, a prisoner. Sam wasn’t scary. Jensen sure as hell wasn’t. Sam wasn’t an Alpha, either, no matter that Jensen referred to him as such.

But maybe that’s exactly what Dean needed him to be. Dean had always been the aggressor. He’d stalked his lovers, men and women, and no matter that he bottomed, that he liked to be pushed around, it had always been his choice. Somehow, with Sam, it was different. Not as if he didn’t have a choice, more like…Dean didn’t care. He would give Sam whatever he wanted, and being that…that, fuck, _vulnerable_ , felt weird. Scary and thrilling.

And there was still some part of him that was resistant to this, duh, of course there was. It was his _brother_ over there, naked and hard and watching him with golden, predatory eyes. His bitchy little brother, gorgeous and Dean was not drunk enough for this and there was no getting out of it and Jared might not be the first thing Dean thought of when he looked at Sam anymore, but Jensen was a fucking liar if he’d meant there was _no_ resemblance.

He slipped from the bed, eyes everywhere but on Sam, moving cautiously as if he was going to step on or break something. He took one step, then another, got up close to them, but Sam spoke again and he froze.

“Take your clothes off.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Dean heard the impatience in Sam’s voice, had heard it enough times in Jared’s that it sent a sick shock of fear through him.

“Sam,” Jensen chided and his hand pressed over Sam’s mouth for a moment. Twisting in Sam’s lap, humming tunelessly in his throat, he reached for Dean.

 _Safe_. Jensen was here and Dean was safe, and he let his twin pull him closer, focused on him instead of Sam’s thick, syrupy scent, his shiny, clean skin, the little curls of damp hair clinging to his neck, the way the sun was shining from under his lashes as he watched Jensen carefully, slowly, strip Dean.

He put one hand on Jensen’s shoulder as he stepped out of his jeans, and Jensen groaned at the touch. Automatically, Dean squeezed and Jensen made a pleased noise. His back was maybe hurting already, or he was just tense from worry, either way, his skin was soft and it gave Dean something to do. He’d always been good at massages, at least that’s what girls told him, but he’d rarely been on the receiving end, never really comfortable having his back to anyone. Jensen was so trusting of him and Sam.

_And why wouldn’t he be? Would it change with a baby around? Would he want us to stop hunting?_

Dean doubted Jensen would ever explicitly ask, but it would make sense that he would want that. He was right, really, about the baby being different, and about hunters. One or the other of them should always be here to protect their family. Sam was going to make a great father, better than he had been, a hell of a lot better than their own father. Things had to change if they were gonna make Jensen feel safe enough to have this kid.

Sam leaned back in the chair and watched as Jensen fell apart under Dean’s touch, squirming as Dean worked his thumbs and strong fingers along muscles and joints. His brother was somewhere else, mind wandering as he stroked Jensen’s back and shoulders, but wherever he was he didn’t seem as lost as he had earlier. Sam wondered what Jensen had said to him that had brought him back, focused him again. He smiled as Jensen relaxed, eyes half-closed and twinkling with pleasure. He was flushed, face and neck and chest, and he was wet, ready. Sam could taste slick on his tongue when he took a deep breath. He really wanted to be patient, to give Dean time to come around and want this as much as Sam did, but Jensen was right here, hot and willing and Sam was literally aching to have him.

He sat up and wrapped his arms around Jensen, disappointed when Dean almost jumped back to avoid being touched, but Jensen reached blindly and caught Dean’s hand, kept him from retreating completely. Sam frowned, pulling Jensen in close, and peered over his shoulder at Dean.

“Do you not want me to touch you?” he asked.

Dean’s eyes glided away. “I…I don’t know.”

“You seem kinda freaked out,” he observed mildly, but leave it to a Winchester to be freaked out and turned on at the same time. Dean’s cock was thick, lying not-quite hard against his thigh, and between the twins, Sam was going to get a cavity just by breathing. Vanilla ice cream and apple pie and wasn’t that fucking _perfect_.

“I’m not freaked out.” A sigh. “I am, okay? I don’t know, Sammy…”

“You don’t seem to mind if he touches you,” Sam said, looking down at their hands. Jensen’s fingers were still curled around Dean’s.

“Oh. Um.”

Jensen suddenly struggled and slipped out of Sam’s arms. He stumbled a little over Sam’s legs and Dean pulled him free, pulled him close.

“Can I kiss you?” Jensen asked, not waiting for an answer. His mouth hit Dean’s, his teeth bit until Dean’s lips opened and his tongue slurred Dean’s words into useless noise. Jensen wound himself around him, arms over his shoulders, behind his neck, legs pushing his wide so he had to put his hands on Jensen’s hips to steady himself.

There was no space between them, but Sam knew where he would still fit.

Dean’s eyes were closed, but there was a smile on his lips when Jensen broke away from them to nip his way down Dean’s jaw, and Sam waited for Jensen to lick his way into that smile again before he moved. Quietly, eyes on Dean, Sam went to his knees behind Jensen. The jeans were just hanging from Jensen’s hips and came down easily. Jensen knew better than to react when Sam’s hands cupped his ass, when his thumbs slid together up the wet line of his cheeks and parted them, but there was no stopping the surge his body made against Dean’s when Sam’s tongue lapped along his hole. Sam felt him go onto his toes, heard the moan he made into Dean’s mouth, and heard the noise Dean returned with when Jensen tightened his hold on him.

Lips already numbing from the slick, Sam pushed his face in further, nosed the little bony bump at the base of Jensen’s spine, wormed his tongue into Jensen’s body, used his thumbs to spread him wide, fingers gripping to hold him still. He curled his tongue, catching the rim of Jensen’s hole, and then slipped in. The muscle was soft and thick and opened to him easily. Sam twisted his tongue, wiggling it as much as he could and Jensen shoved back against his face, pushing Sam deeper. That let Dean get his hand between his body and Jensen’s and around the hard piece of plastic caging Jensen’s cock.

Dean ducked out of the circle of Jensen’s arms and stepped back, but the weight of the clear, heavy cage in his palm, the sight of it hanging between his twin’s thighs, and seeing Sam on his knees behind Jensen, his own cock huge and hard and curving against his belly as he slipped tongue and fingers inside Jensen left Dean speechless.

Jensen let him go only because he didn’t go far, let his hands drop to his sides and his head back, his bottom lip between his teeth, watching Dean’s face with lightning in his slitted eyes. He spread his bowed legs, jeans around one ankle still, and used both hands to pull his ass open wider. Sam hummed, and Dean could see his throat working to swallow even as trails of slick trickled down his chin and neck and chest.

“W-why?” Dean tried, suddenly jerking his hand away from the cock cage and backing up more. “Do you always—”

“Your brother’s idea,” Jensen said, his hips moving in a lazy grind against Sam’s face. “Likes to put his toys away when he’s done playing with them.”

Sam laughed at that. He rocked up to his feet, locking one arm around Jensen’s waist. His other hand lifted Jensen onto his toes as he stuffed his fingers inside of him, knuckle deep. Sam lifted him again, all the way off the floor this time, kicking at the jeans. They skidded against Dean’s feet and he backed up, kept backing up as the pair came towards him. He sat down and Sam stopped, still working his hand between Jensen’s legs.

“Good boy,” Sam repeated, his lips glossed with slick. “You are my toy, aren’t you? I like knowing you're locked up and safe. You’re _mine_ ,” he said again, shaking Jensen by the waist, forcing a gasp out of him. “Can do whatever I want with you. Can’t I?”

“Yes, Alpha,” he said, trancelike, and if he or Sam noticed how Dean covered his mouth with his hand when he heard it, neither reacted.

“That’s right,” Sam said, his hand inside Jensen past the knuckles, his thumb curled and hidden in his palm. He moved to Jensen’s side, dick jutting along Jensen’s hip, so he could lean down and get more leverage. “Can’t forget that for even a second with your pretty cock all locked away, huh? All mine.”

He shoved up and Jensen went to the balls of his feet, inhaling sharply. “Mine, and I can share you if I want.”

“Yes! Alpha, yes,” Jensen gasped as Sam opened him up with his hand. Jensen’s eyes were throwing amethyst sparks at Dean as he said it.

“Slutty thing, aren’t you?” Sam teased and Jensen nodded, pulling on Sam’s hold, towards Dean. “He wants you to fuck him so bad, Dean.”

“W-what?” he stuttered, feeling stunned and confused and more than a little weirded out hearing his brother be so forward, and at the effect it was having on both himself and Jensen. Jensen was holding onto Sam’s shoulder, his whole body vibrating, knees locked against buckling, his mouth open in a wet ‘o’, and his eyes were still on Dean, flickering as he blinked, fluttering closed sometimes as Sam twisted a slippery hand further into him.

“Yeah, says you owe him, remember?”

Dean did. He remembered how much it fucking hurt when, against Jensen’s advice, Dean had begged, when he had thought he was going to come apart, in heat and refusing to let Sam be his Alpha, had thought in desperation that Jensen could take some of the pain away. Jensen had warned him, but Dean had pushed and Jensen had relented and then Dean thought he was going to _die_ , burn up from the inside. Omegas weren’t supposed to fuck each other, especially when one of them was in heat, and Jensen had tried telling him but Dean was ever someone who had to find out for himself.

Dean shrugged, mouth moving wordlessly, and Sam smirked. He put his lips to Jensen’s ear, whispering, and Jensen moaned, bucking on Sam’s hand, and Dean could hear the little metal lock clicking against the cage with his movements. Other than the slick on Sam’s face, between Jensen’s thighs, down Sam’s wrist, there was no evidence Jensen was aroused. His cock was small and soft inside the cage, which was held in place by tensioners fitted through the sides and attached to a ring that was snug around the top of his cock and behind his balls. He was shaved, the faintly ginger hair that he and Dean both sprouted down there was missing on Jensen. His own was fluffier than he usually sported. Cas had taken to absently pushing his fingers through it when they were in bed, listening to Dean talk.

“If you behave, maybe I’ll even let you out of it,” Sam was saying, and they were both watching Dean now.

Jensen didn’t answer, couldn’t, panting instead, half-bent over Sam’s arm around his middle, his body rocking with the force of Sam’s hand banging into him. He stumbled forward on his toes and Sam let him go, took his hand away, let the momentum carry them towards Dean, and then over him. He could have moved but realised there was no point. He wasn’t going to escape this, and he didn’t want to. What he wanted was to not fuck it up. He wanted Sam to trust him, to need him and believe in him, and if there was ever a thing about Dean that was untrustworthy, that turned tail and ran when it felt responsibility, it was his relationship with intimacy.

Alastair had been right, in Hell, when he’d changed tactics. What had broken Dean then were all those whispers in his ear that he was _good_ , that they _needed_ _him_ , that what he would do was _right_ , and it had been frosted by pleasure and tenderness and he had weakened and done the wrong thing. He didn’t want to do that again, he’d rather kill himself than fuck up so badly where Sam was concerned. Whatever it was about him that craved sensation, that melted under praise and the desires of another person, it had always gotten him in trouble unless he cut and ran. And he couldn’t do that with Sam, so he was going to have to stow his crap and take the reins for once.

Jensen landed on him, warm and sweet and soft and wet. Dean lifted him under the arms, dragged him further onto the bed with him, and Sam followed. There was a moment of half-spoken words while they adjusted, then Sam, with a frustrated sigh, shoved Jensen down, flattening Dean out underneath him. Jensen laughed and kissed Dean, straddling his hips, back arched, ass offered up to Sam kneeling behind him.

There were things they had done together, the three of them, when Dean had been in heat. What he could remember he’d tried to forget, and most of it was just a blurred memory, dreamlike and out of sequence, but one thing he remembered was that kissing Jensen when his brother was inside him was a fucking miracle. Body like some kind of circuit, they could push and pull sensations through Jensen, and Dean had felt pretty smug when thrusting his tongue into Jensen’s mouth until he moaned had made Sam lose it, made him come when he hadn’t meant to.

“Dean,” he heard, a softly spoken word against his lips, and he felt Jensen smile, could see his bright eyes, chocolate brown gilded with gold, and he could feel Jensen’s heart beating in time with his own, and his twin winked as if he could sense Dean had found a good memory to stabilise himself with, and then Jensen’s tongue pushed into his mouth as Sam slid his cock inside him finally, and Dean caught fire.

Hands to the back of Jensen’s head, he sealed their mouths together and his hips jerked, his hard cock slipping up between Jensen’s legs and into the slick there, gliding along beside Sam’s balls.

“We could both fit, you know,” Sam said, sounding breathless already.

Dean opened his eyes, but Sam wasn’t looking at him, was peering down between his body and Jensen’s, and Dean felt his little brother’s huge hand find his cock and his long fingers tickle the length of it.

“You wanna fuck him with me?”

Jensen made a noise at that, thrashed in Dean’s hand. Dean let him go, moved his grip to Jensen’s arms. A shudder ran through his body as Sam leaned, balls deep and pressing for more before withdrawing just to slam back into him. He kept his lips on Dean’s, open and slack, tongue flicking in and out of Dean’s mouth in time with Sam’s thrusts into him.

“Well?”

Before Dean could even try to reply, before he knew the answer, Jensen whimpered again, eagerly. Sam reached up and clamped his hand on the back of Jensen’s neck and the omega spasmed, knees going impossibly wide, body collapsing heavily onto Dean. His mouth fell away as his head dropped, sliding down Dean’s cheek wetly to pant against his neck.

“I didn’t ask _you_ , Jensen,” Sam growled.

Jensen's cock cage was digging almost painfully into Dean’s groin, but he knew if he reached between them to adjust it, he was going to grab his own dick and try to put it into Jensen, next to his brother’s already there. Jensen’s tongue was laving little circles against his neck, the most movement he was capable of with his nape in his Alpha’s grasp. Dean tilted his head away so he could see Jensen’s face.

“You want that?” he asked and got a long lick striped along his jaw as a reply.

Sam dragged Jensen back against his chest. He gasped as the movement impaled him at a new angle, and now that Dean knew to look, he could see the slight swell of his belly.

He reached out and touched Jensen’s smooth, slick-wet balls first, and Jensen jumped, but Sam quieted him by mouthing along the back of his neck where his hand had been before.

“Let him,” he nipped into Jensen’s skin, and Jensen tucked his hands behind his thighs obediently.

Dean scooted down, adjusting his legs wider, nudging his cock up between Sam’s groin and Jensen’s ass. He put his hand on Jensen’s stomach, palming the bulge there, and despite Sam’s teeth, Jensen hissed but Dean ignored it, letting Sam bite him into submission again. He grabbed the writhing creature by the hip with his other hand, petting Jensen’s belly.

_We are as good as brothers now. Something of Jared inside me, something of Sam inside Jensen. Me and Sam share blood, that’s the only thing Jared was missing._

Suddenly, distantly, he remembered Jared saying that his dad had travelled around a lot, and that Jensen didn’t know who his father was at all. Sam and Dean’s father had left at least one other child in his wake; Adam, the poor fucking kid they’d pretty much thrown under the bus more than once.

Things between the worlds had been chaotic, but certain things had stayed the same…

Hand over Jensen’s baby, Dean tried uselessly to calculate the odds that Jensen and Jared might have actually been half-brothers.

Jensen’s muscles were jumping under his hand and his eyes were flashing. _A warning,_ Dean registered dazedly, coming back to himself, and he skimmed his hand up, tweaking one of Jensen’s nipples. Another complaint, half-aroused, half-irritated, but Dean wasn’t giving anything away by teasing him here. He pinched each one hard, rolling them in his calloused fingers, noting they felt a little larger, a little thicker, than his own. And it was his own hand, softer, less calloused, that brushed the head of his cock where it was being rubbed and pressed between Sam and Jensen's bodies. Jensen tugged at the head, worrying a finger around the tiny wet hole, and then he lifted himself on his knees as high as he could and tried to angle Dean into him. He almost succeeded, Dean’s cock catching and popping away from Jensen’s ass, but Jensen couldn’t arch his back enough with Sam holding him so tightly. Dean knocked his hand away and grabbed the base of his cock.

“Wait, wait,” Jensen cried, a note of panic in his voice, a funeral-flower heaviness to his scent. “Sam, pull out a little.”

“Always hogging all the room,” Dean grumbled, and his brother frowned at him, and the teasing felt so natural Dean almost spaced out what they were doing, his body on autopilot as he tried to find entrance into Jensen. He knew he’d hit the mark when Jensen gasped, falling forward only to hold himself up on shaking arms.

It actually hurt. There was no burn, the omega was too wet for that; rather a pinching on the head of his cock as it was flattened and squeezed, and then he felt a pop and he was in. His first push caught the hard rim of Sam’s cockhead against his own. Sam bucked at the sensation, shoving in further, deeper than Dean could reach. But with the slippery glide up along Sam’s cock, the tension eased from Jensen’s body in a long, shuddering sigh, and Jensen rolled his hips, sliding down onto them.

“That’s it, honey,” Sam crooned. “Easy. Just do what feels good.”

What felt good to Dean was the solid, veined length of Sam’s cock against his own, flexing with his heartbeat. He was bigger than Dean, longer and thicker, but Dean wanted to feel that catch again and he thrust up, seeking the tip of Sam’s cock, and it became a game of keep-away, Sam pushing himself inside, pulling out only when Dean did. Frustrated, Dean grabbed Jensen’s hips and slammed him down. Sam gasped and Jensen cried out. Was actually crying.

“Fuck, sorry, kid. I’ll stop—”

“No, no, no,” Jensen hiccuped, in tears, and Dean glanced up at Sam.

His brother wrapped one hand around Jensen’s throat and pulled him back against his chest, but rather than asking if he was alright, Sam said, “I want you to do this, Jen. Just relax and let us fuck you like the good omega slut you are, okay? We’re gonna do it anyway.”

“Jesus christ, Sam, the mouth on you,” Dean breathed, but Jensen just sobbed, sounding frightened, and nodded.

“ _Go_ , please. ’S good.”

Jensen’s slick numbing him slightly, Dean hoped he meant it. Everything about this situation had a car crash feel to it, and he was two seconds from impact, from losing control completely and, viciously, he wanted Sam right there with him. Blue-gold eyes were wandering too-possessively over Dean and Jensen, and Sam looked entirely too self-possessed and calm, sweat-slicked and still except for where he was almost imperceptibly pumping his hips, the motion just a tiny drag and pull on Dean’s cock as he waited patiently for Jensen to give him what he wanted.

Jensen tossed his head back, his cheeks wet, his eyes closed tightly. He pushed his nose against Sam’s jaw, and Dean remembered doing that, remembered how soothing his Alpha’s scent was when he was in pain or confused and part of him was envious of Jensen still having that.

Sam’s hands were all over Jensen now, cupping his cheek and pulling his face in closer, running his palms over Jensen’s thighs, rubbing with the heels of his hands, massaging, digging into his hips and lower back, bowing Jensen’s body out just to pull him back in, coaxing him into moving, into fucking himself onto them, and it worked. Jensen made a pitiful noise, his lip caught between his teeth, and the expression on his face went from pain to pure pornography. He was biting into a smile as his hips rolled finally, tentatively, and then he leaned away from Sam and back over Dean, hands on his twin’s chest, and he pushed, taking them both in as far as he could.

“God, you’re so fucking good together. Want you both to suck me off later. Will you do that, Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy.”

“Fuck. Yeah, call me Sammy while you do it, while I fuck your face and Jen sticks his tongue in my ass. He loves doing that. Don’t you, slut?”

“Yes, Alpha!”

Jensen groaned, grinding down, hips moving in a frantic stuttering jerk that kept them buried inside him and Sam’s cock was slip-sliding against the underside of Dean’s and it felt so, so fucking good, and the filth coming out of Sam’s mouth was ruinous and somehow perfect, too, and Dean could only brace himself and stare up at them and if a wolf could smile, eyes gleaming under a bloody moon, that’s the way Sam looked back down at him.

“Kiss him,” Sam said, and it didn’t matter who the command was directed at, they both obeyed, turning towards each other as one and licking into each other’s mouths and Dean felt Sam’s cock jump against his inside Jensen. He loved that, loved making Sam react. It had always been a thing, really. When Sam was a baby, Dean had spent every moment he could making the kid smile and laugh, finding things to surprise him and delight him. A little older and a little meaner, he’d spent some time making him cry, pinching him or scaring him, just to see his face change, fascinated. Teenagers, distant and pissy with each other, he’d gone back to trying to make him smile, needing that sunshine in his life, making it a personal quest to get it, especially when he’d been so often the one to make the smile disappear for whatever reason in the first place. Between then and now, he’d pretty much lived for Sam’s reactions, anything at all he could get out of him: a laugh, a glare, a punch, because all of it meant his brother was _here_ , with him, not states away, not at Stanford, not…

Sam was so close now Dean could feel his heart beat in his cock where it was up against his own, could feel it race as he kissed Jensen and Sam watched, and whatever he could do, whatever he could give to Sam, he would, if it meant Sam kept him this close, forever.

Dean put his hand to Jensen’s neck, over that spot that made him weak and submissive, and he slowly applied pressure there. Jensen whined into his mouth. Dean caught his flicking tongue in his teeth and sucked, nursed on it, knowing exactly where it had been many times before, and he gave into the jealousy, gave up being surprised by it. Jensen would share everything with him, every part of Sam, of that he had no doubt, and _goddamn_ did he want it all.

He felt Sam’s hand cover his on Jensen’s neck, his fingers pushing Dean’s wide so he could slip between them and grip, and Jensen mewled weakly into Dean’s mouth.

“You ready, babe?” Sam asked, but he wasn’t looking for an answer, moving his hand around to Jensen’s cheek and then into his mouth, between the twin’s lips. Dean licked along the back of Sam’s knuckles, tasting Jensen’s honeyed slick. Sam twisted his hand around, thrusting his fingers against Dean’s tongue and he gagged, but he let Sam wipe his fingers on it. Sam laughed again, and then he caught Jensen by the hips, and he started moving. Powerful, brutal, he slammed into them, and Jensen opened his mouth as if to scream, but no sound came out. Instead, he pressed his face into Dean’s neck and grabbed his shoulders, and all Dean could do was push his heels into the mattress for purchase and hold onto Jensen’s thighs as his brother pounded the breath from both of them.

Sam was beautiful, crouched over them, muscles taut and snapping his body in a devastating rhythm that had Dean hurtling towards orgasm, and by the look Sam was giving him, eyes narrowed and almost glaring, lips caught in concentration between his teeth, Dean knew that’s exactly what he was trying to do, and he let it happen. It was insanity, this feeling, and Dean could say that with certainty now. He didn’t know what he wanted, except for this to never stop. Unless Sam wanted it to. He’d do whatever Sam wanted and there was the madness: after fighting against his brother for so long and now being so willing to give him anything, do anything for him.

It was mind-blowing and confusing and made him feel hollow inside, but light, as if this new-found passion and submission had removed a burden from him he hadn’t been fully aware he’d been carrying around, and it was _amazing_ ; to have chosen this, to not have it forced on him as it had been before. It felt so fucking good, and Jensen’s warm, writhing body on his felt good, wet and tight around him, and Sam felt fucking fantastic with his big hands everywhere on them and his thick cock stroking against Dean’s, and he couldn’t wait for his little brother to fuck him again, suddenly remembering with absolute clarity what it felt like taking Sam to the hilt inside him, to feel that perfect, slight pain of _too deep, too big, too long, not enough, little brother, need you, need this, more more more_

His orgasm rushed into that empty space, flooded him with blinding pleasure, made him feel full and complete for maybe the first time in his life. Dean clutched at Sam’s wrists, managed to dislodge his hands from Jensen’s waist and Sam fell hard against Jensen, making him cry out. Dean echoed the sound as Sam’s cock slipped up against his as he came. He tried to arch his back, couldn’t help but do it, but Jensen and Sam were too heavy and all he could do was dig his nails into Sam’s flesh and gasp for breath as his balls emptied inside the omega, adding to the heat and wetness there. Sam never stopped his thrusts and the slick drag against Dean’s sensitive, jerking cock was quickly becoming too much, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

His chest was hitching painfully but he couldn’t seem to stop trying to inhale, and the red glow in the room was seeping across his brother’s face, obscuring it. If he was suffocating it was hard to care as the panic came and went in a flash; he stopped trying to move and just stared up at Sam through the bloody haze, gasping, filling his chest to bursting with the sweet scent of Sam and Jensen. He felt Sam pull out of his now lax grip, and then the warmth of his hand on his cheek. Dean closed his eyes, drifting through the mist, down and away from his body.

Sam slapping him lightly would have made him gasp had he any room left in his lungs, but he twitched away, free now because Sam had dragged Jensen off. They were on their sides next to him, Sam with an irritatingly bemused smile on his lips, Jensen watching him with pleasure-glazed eyes.

“Fuck,” Dean slurred, and then added, “Fuck _you_ ,” when Sam tried to hide his laughter in Jensen’s hair. “You should have to apply for a license to do that. Fucking dangerous.”

“Didn’t think you’d be so delicate,” Sam replied and kissed a laugh into Jensen’s neck and shoulder as Dean flipped him off.

Jensen made a soft noise in his throat, almost a purr, Dean thought, and opened his legs wide, hooking one back behind Sam’s knees, and between them Dean could see his little brother’s cock, fucking huge and red and glistening with slick and laced down its length with Dean’s come and Dean knew Jensen was gone when Sam guided it back inside his body and Jensen didn’t react, just blinked slowly, pupils wide and irises sparkling. He let his head loll back against Sam’s arm and put his fingers down where Sam was filling him, pushing inside himself next to Sam’s cock.

“Oh, I like you so stretched,” Sam murmured, “so soft and loose. Wanna keep you this way, fucked open and ready whenever we want it. Gonna keep you full of come and wide from so much cock, huh, baby?”

Jensen nodded, looking up at Sam with vacant adoration. Sam smiled at him and pulled his hand from between his legs, putting Jensen’s fingers into his own mouth.

“How’s Dean taste, hm?” Sam asked, and sucked the answer from Jensen. He smiled again, licking and kissing Jensen’s lips as he spoke. “Good, isn’t it? I want his come in you as much as mine is, wanna see him fuck your mouth and your ass and have you leaking with it.”

Jensen shuddered and nodded, and Sam corkscrewed his hips, wet noises coming from between their bodies, and Dean felt blood flushing to his cock again at his brother’s words. As if he knew, could sense the effect he was having on Dean, Sam glanced up at him.

“Pleased with yourself,” Dean tried to tease, but he had no immunity to Sam’s dirty mouth and filthy imagination. At least Sam kept from smirking this time.

“Come here,” Sam said, pulling away from Jensen and rolling off the bed. He grabbed Jensen’s arm and dragged him to his feet when he didn’t move fast enough and Dean’s left arm ached suddenly, ghosted by the memory of Jared hauling him up the same way. But instead of slamming him against the wall, Sam led Jensen back to the chair. He tried to crawl into Sam’s lap, but Sam stopped him, turned him by his hips to face Dean on the bed. Sam brought his knees together a little and pulled Jensen backwards over them.

“Go slow,” Sam instructed, guiding Jensen down onto his dick again. Breathing hard as the long shaft disappeared into him, Jensen lowered himself until he was seated and let Sam spread his legs wide with his own.

Cautiously, but needing to see, Dean pushed himself upright, light-headed, but the view was worth it. Sam lifted Jensen with his hands under his ass, helped him raise himself up just to drop him again and again. Sam’s thighs and balls were wet with Jensen’s slick and Dean wanted very much to crawl over to them and clean his brother off with his mouth, but Jensen’s cock cage would break Dean’s nose with the way they were moving.

They couldn’t keep it up for long and Sam leaned back, spreading his legs more, pulling Jensen against his chest so he could lazily snake his cock in and out of Jensen’s body, and it was Jensen now whose mouth was running.

“Feels so good, Sam. Fuck. Love your cock, love your big Alpha dick. Love _you_. So good, Alpha. Harder, please? Please!”

And Sam complied, bouncing Jensen until he was incapable of words, was just grunting out noises of pleasure against Sam’s jaw. Dean saw Jensen’s teeth nip at Sam’s cheek, catching and pulling the skin. Sam growled and slapped his hand over Jensen’s mouth, but he struggled free.

“I’m sorry!” he cried. “Sam, Sam, Alpha, I’m sorry. Don’t stop, please!”

“What do I fucking tell you about biting me, huh?” Sam grated, slowing his movements.

“Please, I won’t do it again. I just. I want—Alpha, please—”

“You want me to hurt you?”

At Jensen’s eager nod, Dean involuntarily shook his head. Just a tiny reaction, a little twitch of his muscles, his heart’s response to the thought of seeing Sam hurt Jensen. Pregnant Jensen. Dean could take being hurt, could deal with his mind playing tricks on him, trying to switch between Jared and Sam, but there was something primal in him that raged up suddenly and fiercely protective. Even though he knew he didn’t have a right to dictate what Jensen wanted to do with himself or the baby…it was just instinct.

Sam saw. He couldn’t have known why Dean reacted to it, only saw that he did, so he tried to divert Jensen instead. “Not now, Jen. Soon, though, okay? Tell me what else you want?”

Jensen whined and Dean almost felt bad for him, but Jensen was quick to move on. He rocked in Sam’s grasp, the lock on his cage clicking loudly against the hard plastic.

“Can I come, Alpha? I’ve been good, haven’t I? I _have_ ,” he insisted when Sam chuckled.

“You can come in Dean’s mouth.”

“Hey!”

Sam pulled Jensen back against him, hand around his throat, and said into his ear, “Poor baby. Guess you’ll just have to wait another week, then.”

“Oh, Alpha, please!”

“Not me you need to beg, Jen.”

“Dean,” Jensen cried. “Please. I’d do it for you, you know I would.” Sam was moving again, jolting him, making his words come out in broken yips. “ _Dean_. Please? Fuck, so good. Sam. Wanna come, Dean. Help? Fuck.”

Dean was moving forward, mind made up before his thoughts could form words. Sam watched him come with heat in his narrowed eyes, and he pulled Jensen’s legs further apart, fondling and pulling at Jensen’s balls with one hand. Sam cupped the cage and twisted it, making Jensen gasp.

“My wallet,” Sam said, and Dean understood. Obediently, he scrounged Sam’s jeans from the side of the bed and plucked the scuffed, bloodstained leather from the back pocket. Opening it, he pressed around until he found the lump that indicated the key and fished it out. Kneeling between their spread legs, he waited until Sam was done toying with Jensen and took his hand away. The lock opened easily and that allowed the ring holding the cage in place to unhinge and the whole thing fell away with more ease than Dean was positive it took to get on.

Jensen whined again as his dick began to fill with blood, and Dean watched, fascinated. He reached up and cupped both hands over the still soft, hot flesh, feeling it roll and swell in his palms, and then he put his mouth over it and both Sam and Jensen let out little gasps at that. It swelled rapidly in his mouth, against his tongue and then down his throat and he stayed very still as it happened. Close like this, Jensen and Sam together smelled wonderful, like everything sweet he’d ever wanted, every birthday cake he’d never gotten and lips flavoured with gloss he’d not kissed and every piece of candy he’d given up to his little brother.

He could smell his own come, too, heavy with salt and smoke. He let Jensen’s now hard cock slide out of his throat, wet and dripping, and pressed his face lower, licking for where the scent was the strongest, where Sam was buried, where Dean had left some of himself already. He lapped at his brother’s balls and the thick, solid base of his cock, and around Jensen’s hole, letting Sam’s short thrusts pull his tongue inside the omega. His own cock was hard again but he ignored it. Dean tilted his head, trying to get his mouth around Sam’s cock, sucking at the flesh as much as he could, cleaning him of Jensen’s slick like he’d wanted to. If he could, he’d have gone deeper between Sam’s legs, licked him where Sam had said Jensen did, but he couldn’t, not yet. And Jensen was begging again.

“Dean, _please_!”

“Shh,” Sam soothed against Jensen’s neck, but Dean wasn’t going to make him wait. He remembered what it was like, being so needy, feeling like his life depended on coming for his Alpha.

Jensen hissed when the blunt tips of Dean’s fingers replaced his tongue, two of them sliding in with Sam’s cock, knuckles against the underside of it. He pushed in until he felt the swollen bit of spongy flesh that marked Jensen’s prostate, the button meant to be pushed by an Alpha’s knot that would allow Jensen release. He circled his fingers over it lightly at first, teasingly, and he sucked Jensen’s leaking cock back into his mouth. The precome Jensen produced was thinner than his slick, much thinner than an Alpha’s come, and tasted so good, like water sweet from a spring. He hollowed his cheeks, sealing his mouth around the head before sliding down the length as far as he could, and then drawing back, slowly, and again, fingers flicking at Jensen’s insides.

Sam had gone still under Jensen and Dean lifted his lashes up to find his brother _finally_ looking rattled, finally on edge and Dean smiled around Jensen’s cock and swept his tongue under the head, knowing he was sensitive there.

Jensen could only take so much, Dean learned, but he didn’t pull away when he felt hands on the back of his head. Jensen tugged on him even as he bucked his hips, shoving himself against the back of Dean’s throat, and Dean let him in, numb and slick enough that it was easy. He leaned up to get a better angle and swallowed once as Jensen filled his throat, and then Dean pushed hard with his fingers. Jensen bent over and lifted himself on his toes and began to thrust, fucking back onto Sam’s cock and his own down Dean’s throat.

Dean just closed his eyes and held still, concentrating on the right amount of pressure to apply to Jensen’s swollen prostate, oblivious to the expression on Sam’s face; that he looked like a porn star with his twin’s cock down his throat, taking it so easily, drooling onto his knees, his hard, perfect cock bobbing neglected between his thighs. Sam wanted to see him touch it, see him stroke himself in time to Jensen fucking his face, but when Jensen came and he shoved Dean hard down over his cock, his big brother just put a hand to Jensen’s thigh to balance himself and took the writhing creature’s cock and come without complaint, watering eyes fluttering, and Sam had to— _had to_ —fuck him.

He stood up, knocking them apart even as Jensen was still pouring into Dean, and the sight of clear come dripping from Jensen’s cock and from Dean’s mouth was _so_ hot. Sam twisted around, tossing Jensen into the chair in his place, and there was a moment Sam would never forget, that would wake him up for years to come with his cock hard and his belly sticky from it. Dean, dazed, his green eyes bright behind damp lashes, on his knees, naked and hard, his wet mouth open, lips puffy and fucked red, looking up at Sam almost sweetly, and then a small, unsure smile graced his lips, creased the corners of his eyes.

“Sam?”

He couldn’t answer. Dean knew anyway. Sam’d said it before. Would say it again, but not now. Now, Sam reached out and Dean didn’t flinch as Sam grabbed his cheek and pushed him away, around, to his hands and Dean didn’t hesitate to slide his knees apart and lower his face to the floor. Sam covered him from behind, going down on his elbows so he could push his mouth against Dean’s neck, his ear, and whisper.

“Want you. Always, Dean. Do you want this?”

“Yeah, Sammy. Not gonna fuckin’ beg, though.”

Sam smiled and kissed the shell of Dean’s ear, making him flinch, but there was nowhere to go with his brother’s body caging him. Sam hunched his hips up like a dog, seeking entry. His cock slippery from Jensen, his aim practiced, he found it easily, and he clamped down on Dean’s arms when he tried to scoot away, shy or nervous still, it didn’t matter to Sam. Maybe he should have prepped him, and he didn’t want to make it hurt necessarily, but maybe he did, just a little. He held Dean down and pushed into him with one smooth, relentless motion.

Dean gasped, held it as the first few inches opened him, and then the breath came out a sob and his flesh pebbled against Sam’s and he cursed, but Sam kept going. Dean’s chest dropped to the floor and Sam could see his eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth digging into his lip, but he didn’t say no, didn’t tell Sam to stop, wait, and Sam wouldn’t have anyway, not until he was as far inside Dean as he could go. Only when his hips sealed against Dean’s ass, his cock buried to the hilt—though Sam knew there was the possibility for more when Dean relaxed—did he pause. He could feel Dean’s heart pounding where his arms were squeezed against Dean’s sides, where the tip of his cock was nudged up against some part of his guts that were warm and soft and tight around him, and he watched. Saw his lip come free of his teeth first, then his throat worked, drew in a ragged breath. He found room enough to turn his face, forehead to the floor and he arched as if to feel Sam all around him, and then in him as he rocked back, and there it was, the little catch and slip as the pain receded and everything of Sam was inside him.

“Dean.”

“Can’t move. Do it, Sam.”

Hard, short thrusts were all Sam could manage, unwilling to let Dean out of his arms. He needed this, all of Dean, solid and strong and hot, fucking beautiful and _his_ , his brother, his lover, pinned beneath him and taking the sharp jabs and bruising grind of his cock. _Wanting_ it with the way his palms flattened on the floor, bracing, and his hips canted up, and the breath Sam knocked out of his body with every slam of his hips turned into a benediction: _fuck Sam yes Sammy god_

Dean’s eyes were open, his cheek on the back of his hand, his mouth smearing kisses and words against Sam’s wrist, licking for his fingers as if he needed more of Sam inside him. Knew now that he _could_ be in Dean’s mouth, his ass, in his hands, against his cock; _could_ touch and use and love all of his body with all of his own, and that Dean wanted him to, trusted him again, loved him back. Even though Sam knew he would never say it, couldn’t, as if the word would brand him somehow, mark him, or maybe it would mark the person he said it to, stigmatize them, target them; Sam couldn’t _not_ say it, and Dean was the only person he’d ever said it to before Jensen, and he said it now, whispered it, and Dean tried to cover it up, deny it with noises of lust, and then he did beg.

“Sammy, harder. I want—I can—Sam, fuck—”

“Yeah? You gonna come for me? Like your little brother’s dick in you that much?”

“ _Fuck_. _Sam_.”

Sam felt it happening, felt it coil through Dean’s body and condense, phosphorus hot right where Sam was thickest and dragging inside Dean, the same spot Dean had teased on Jensen, and Sam concentrated, torquing his hips and honing in on that heat, and when he made Dean come, his reward was teeth sunk into his arm. Dean bit down, and Sam had to laugh. He sat back on his heels, pulling Dean up out of the little mess he’d made between the floor and his belly, and he let his writhing, twitching brother mindlessly fuck himself through his orgasm. He dragged Dean’s face around to kiss his own blood from his mouth, digging his fingers into Dean’s cheeks lightly to keep it from happening again and it was like that, him pinning his brother to his chest, holding his mouth open, squeezing around Dean’s waist as he moved so quick and wild he was really just vibrating on Sam’s cock, that Sam finally came.

Dean seemed to feel it as strongly as Sam did; arching, almost knocking them both over, and he pushed and scratched at Sam’s hold but Sam clamped down on him, held him and marked him inside, wanted to bite him back, but he knew better. This was not Jensen, they were _not_ the same as much as they _were_ , and he needed to remember that. Instead, he let Dean’s face go and kissed him when Dean kissed him first, kissed him until he couldn’t, until he had to breathe and he couldn’t hold Dean any longer without making him nervous, irritated. This was a lot for him, Sam knew, relaxing his arms slowly.

Jensen helped them both up. Dean first, and Sam had a fantastic view of his brother’s ass sliding messily off his cock as Jensen pulled Dean, grumbling about his knees, to his feet. Gingerly and without looking back, Dean slipped out of the room, and Sam let himself be hauled up and wrapped around.

“Sorry about dumping you off my lap so fast,” Sam said, petting Jensen’s back. He felt Jensen smile against his shoulder.

“Nah, it’s okay. I get it.”

“Yeah? You get that I love you? Nothing’s gonna change about that.”

“I _know_ ,” Jensen replied, sounding almost offended. Sam squeezed him. _Made for each other,_ Sam remembered him saying. _All of us._

Dean came back eventually, with beer and leftover pizza. Jensen turned his nose up at both but Sam had one of each, to please his brother, mostly. They started watching the newest _Iron Man_ movie on the little flat screen hanging on the wall, another Craigslist score, but somewhere between Jensen settling back under his arm and listening to Dean cheer and complain, Sam drifted off. He was vaguely aware at one point of Dean getting up to turn the movie off and brush his teeth and that Jensen had snuggled against his side, and then he felt Dean’s hand lightly brush along his leg and across his foot as he moved around the bed and climbed in on the other side of Jensen, and one thought roamed through his tired, sated brain:

_Is this really happening?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanna see what I see?  
> [tagged/Between Two Minds](http://silver9mm.tumblr.com/tagged/btm)


	10. Chapter 10

Dean couldn’t have said what roused him, but he opened one eye reluctantly, expecting it to be morning, for there to be daylight fingering through the heavy curtains over the small window, but blue on black shadows was all he saw. He blinked both eyes open. One of the shadows moved, and it could have been _his_ shadow.

The bed rattled just a little as Jensen crawled back up into his space between the brothers, but he didn’t lay down again. He sat on his knees and even though the light was too diffused for his eyes to catch and spark, Dean could feel them on him. He shivered.

“Jens?” he whispered. “You—”

Hands around his throat cut him off. He’d forgotten how strong Jensen was. He’d been so pliable and kittenish up to this point it had been easy to overlook the differences biology had created other than his eyes, his scent, his slick and filling womb. Dean’d never actually seen Jensen lose it, go mad or whatever it was, check out. He’d heard about it from Bobby and Sam, he’d gotten a few calls from the Ellen personality, but he knew he was seeing it now, silhouetted above him and using all the strength that came naturally to his kind.

His first impulse was to punch at the dark form, but there was a new, more powerful drive in him now to protect Jensen. So Dean tried to pry the fingers from around his throat, but it was bending steel and Jensen wasn’t fucking around, wasn’t playing. Darkness was slipping back over Dean’s eyes, and it wouldn’t be restful sleep this time. He flailed, reaching out, hoping the bed wasn’t so fucking big he wouldn’t reach Sam. He must have, but he didn’t feel it, extremities already numb, but he heard Jensen screech and then he was jerked forward as Sam tried to drag Jensen away.

Sam had no such compunction and there was a loud thump when he cuffed Jensen, and Dean felt the grip on his throat loosen finally as Sam bent Jensen over, pushing on the back of his neck until he was face down. Dean gasped and blinked until he could see again, then he scrambled for the light. He pulled the chain on it, but too hard and the lamp tipped onto the floor on the other side of the nightstand, making shadows dance and slither.

Jensen shrieked, sounding furious and insane, and he struggled against Sam’s hold. Sam slapped him again, and the grip he had on the omega’s neck was going to leave bruises. Jensen thrashed, clawing for Sam’s hand, but Sam caught it and twisted it up behind him and he drove Jensen forward, flattening him out, a knee to his back.

“Don’t hurt him!” Dean croaked, his throat aching.

Jensen laughed, a mad titter through bared teeth that ended in a half-aroused gasp as Sam shook him, shoving him down hard into the bed.

“Don’t listen to him, Sammy-baby,” Jensen said, his voice high pitched and strangely accented from a place Dean knew he’d never been to, that didn’t exist in this world. “Fucking hurt me! He ain’t got nothing on Alastair, huh, Dean? He couldn’t do the things Alastair did if we drew him a fucking diagram. Isn’t that right, you worthless excuse of an omega? You never did as you were told, always fucking fought back and just made it worse until I had to step up. Fucking pitiful. He’s still out there, gonna get you, take you away from Jared—”

“What the fuck? Sam?” Dean asked, bewildered, his body still numb. Jensen arched, cackling as he did, and he almost unseated Sam from his back, but Sam slammed him back down and Dean scooted away from them as Jensen flailed, clawing for anything he could reach. He moved against the wall and heard a metallic rattle as the pillows shifted. Dean swept his hand under them and came out with a folding razor. Wordlessly, he held it up for Sam to see.

“For fuck’s sake, Jensen,” Sam said, but he was talking to himself. Jensen wasn’t there. He shook his head by way of apology at Dean and then leaned over the pinned omega, who was crying and giggling and struggling by turns. Sam adjusted his grip on the back of Jensen’s neck and Jensen kicked his feet in protest, but his tense body relaxed despite itself.

“You little cunt,” Sam growled into Jensen’s ear.

“Ooh, Daddy, I like it when you call me that,” came the reply through bloody teeth, from a bitten tongue.

“Just go away. Fucking bitch. Let him come back, let him tell me what he needs. You’re just a lying cunt, and we both know it. Where’d you get the razor? Steal it from Bobby?”

“Got—got a—stash,” Jensen gasped out.

“Sam, he can’t breathe,” Dean said. Thought he said. His own voice sounded weird and far away.

Jensen’s eyes rolled up to Dean’s. “Don’t worry, he won’t kill us,” he panted. “Tried to get him to. A lot. Huh, Jared?”

“Shut up! Did you hurt him?” Sam yelled in Jensen’s ear. “Did you? Fucking answer me! Dean, do you see blood on him anywhere? _Dean_.”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to his brother’s, away from the twisted expression on Jensen’s face. “Sammy?”

“Dean,” he said again, slowly, calmly, “is there any blood on you? Do you see any on him?”

Dean shook his head. “N-no. His mouth, but that, that was you.”

Sam nodded and then bent down, touching his forehead lightly against Jensen’s temple. Jensen sucked in air through his clenched teeth, hissing, and his legs thrashed again. Dean saw Sam grimace, eyes squeezed shut, and he shoved on Jensen one more time as if he could push whoever he was right now out of the way, out of his body, but it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“Dead, Jared,” Jensen cried. “You’re already dead. Dead, and he killed you! Jenny got you killed, he always does.”

“Why do you _do_ this?” Sam said, knowing there wasn’t a reasonable answer, and before Jensen could let loose any more disparaging words, Sam bit him. Up high, above where his fingers were digging into Jensen’s neck just under his hairline, nowhere near where a claiming bite from an Alpha would do the most good. This bite was meant to hurt and nothing else. Jensen’s shadowed eyes went wide and his free hand twisted in the blankets as he tried to drag himself away from the pain.

The second bite was where it should be, and deep; Dean could see by the clench of Sam’s muscles that he was breaking skin, drawing blood, scarring, and Jensen howled. He bucked, managing to get his knees up under him, and Sam had to let him or be tossed off, but he kept Jensen’s chest and face down against the bed.

Back arched, knees wide, Jensen presented himself.

“It’s rape if he doesn’t know it’s happening, isn’t it?” Jensen sneered.

“Sam, don’t,” Dean said, but his brother wasn’t going to stop. Dean thought about trying to make him stop, but then they’d still have Jensen, or whomever it was Sam was about to fuck, on their hands and, even though the thought made him wince, Sam was Jensen’s Alpha now, and Dean had no right to interfere.

He could taste Sam’s anger and frustration in the air, a sour, sharp tang that made Dean’s eyes burn, made him want to press himself against the wall, away from the enraged Alpha—

_No! Not Alpha. Sam. Just Sammy, little brother. Don’t have to stay, don’t have to watch this—_

But everything he’d gleaned about Jensen’s life during the year he’d lived as the omega slipped out of the mental file he had sealed up and made a mess of his mind again, made it hard to disassociate himself from what he was seeing. He knew Jensen had been raped, not once but many times, more than Jensen even knew because his other personalities had taken over, spared him when they could. For years he’d been abused by Alastair and then by others Alastair had invited as if Jensen were a toy to pass around. Jared had rescued him from that hell, and Dean actually felt something tear inside his mind as he watched Sam mount Jensen and bite him again.

Jensen made a desperate, eager moan and then laughed, the sound bitter and hateful, and he called Sam Jared again; the Alpha that had loved Jensen had raped Dean. Many times. Dean had fought and Jared had done his best to not force him, but it had happened, and to be able to survive it Dean had forced himself to want it, to accept it, and he’d pretended at times—most of the time—that it had been his brother touching him, because he loved Sam and Sam would never hurt him, would never do exactly what he was doing right now. And was it really rape when Jensen would let him, would want Sam, if he knew? But he didn’t know and someone else was doing this to him and Sam knew the difference when Jared hadn’t, and he was doing it anyway, and Dean wanted to scream.

Jensen was screaming. Cursing at Sam, at Jared, he was fighting for all he was worth, but when he won his arm free of Sam’s hold, he reached back and dug his nails into Sam’s thighs, pulling him closer.

“Pig! Asshole!” Jensen cried. “Like it like this, huh? _No, no, Daddy, don’t do it to me_! Fuck you! Not gonna let you hurt Jenny an’ Joey no more!”

“Sam?”

At the sound of Dean’s voice, Jensen lunged for him, hands like eagle’s talons. Instinctively, Dean grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed. Sam clamped his hand back down on the omega’s neck, and with the other, shoved himself up into Jensen.

“Get back,” Jensen said, almost pleading suddenly, looking up at Dean with tears in his eyes. “Go inside, Jenny, don’t let them see you. I’ll take care of everything for you, just go. Go, go, go, please, just go,” he begged, and Dean held him down as his brother fucked him, banging the words from him with hard thrusts, and the words became noises and then breaths, and then silence. The fingers trying madly to claw at Dean, or to shove him away, he didn’t know, they relaxed finally, stretched out wide and then curled limply.

Dean saw a flash of gold and ruby in Jensen’s eyes, like a kindling fire, and he let out a shuddering breath as Sam leaned over him, fucking him with fast, short strokes of his hips, their bodies colliding wetly, both sweating from the exertion. Sam’s hair was covering their faces, but Dean could hear him, the tone of voice, could smell the shifting emotions. Sam was whispering to Jensen, wanting him, needing him to be okay, to come back. Sam was telling Jensen he loved him, and Dean kept a hold of his wrists anyway, shock dictating his decisions. He closed his eyes, feeling nauseated and dizzy, Sam’s hot, sweet sweat and Jensen’s slick and the smell of his bloody breath too much, too close.

“Dean, let go.”

He couldn’t open his eyes, but he felt Sam’s long fingers slide under his and pry gently. He leaned back against the wall, hands aching from how tightly he’d been gripping Jensen. He felt Sam shifting around, and then there was a cool hand on his arm. He let Sam draw him down, opening his eyes slowly when he was on his side and Sam’s summertime scent was clean and mellow again.

Sam was on his back, propped up slightly on the pillows, breathing hard, and Dean stared into the shadow his body created in front of his face, fighting the urge to crawl into the darkness to hide. It was too much to resist completely, and Dean watched his hand slip its way under Sam’s ribs, and a movement drew his gaze up. Sam was still hard, his cock bobbing against his belly with the racing of his heart and he was shiny with Jensen’s slick and he wasn’t Jared at all, and Dean needed to know that more than anything else right now, or he was going to lose his mind the way Jensen had just done. Dean was going to become the Jensen he had been in that other place, hopeless and helpless, so he crawled onto Sam, saying his name over and over again, but it never lost its meaning, never became just a noise, a name that could belong to anyone.

“Sam,” he said, face buried against his brother’s neck, not caring that he was shaking from head to toe and that Sam had to do all the work again, had to reach down and slip carefully inside him. Not caring that Sam wrapped his arms around his body and held him gently as he rocked him in his lap. That he couldn’t come, his cock small and soft sliding through the sweat on Sam’s abdomen

It felt so good, what Sam was doing. Long, strong fingers kneaded the tense muscles of his shoulders and down along his spine, and Sam pushed the heels of his hands into the thick muscles of Dean’s hips and thighs before gripping his ass, squeezing and pulling gently there, and Dean felt fingertips slip around where Sam was in him and he sighed, calming at the touch.

Sam was silent but for his breathing, and Dean pushed his nose into his neck, could feel the pounding of his heart in the pulse against his lips. Something brushed against his leg; Jensen shifting fitfully in his sleep, and Dean tried to move away, to lift his head at least, but Sam held him down with one hand to the back of his head, the other moving from his hip to Jensen and back again, petting and soothing them both. Sam shushed them softly even as he quickened his pace, bent his knees and lifted his hips from the bed in hard, short thrusts, and Dean couldn’t be quiet, was saying _Sam_ again, the word coming out broken until it was only the sounds that made up his name: hisses between Dean’s teeth, gasps as he mouthed Sam’s neck and moans from bitten-closed lips.

When it felt like Sam was going to pull out just before he came, Dean sat up, sinking down on his cock and rolling his body, letting his head fall back as Sam touched him, as Jensen whimpered next to them, and he needed Sam so much, wanted him to come inside him—

“Sam,” he said into the darkness, and he got what he wanted. His little brother groaned and arched up off the bed, his cock swelling and twitching inside Dean. There was some pain; Sam was just so big, long and thick, but pain was part of Sam, too, and Dean wanted all of him. All of this. There was nothing he would change now even if he could. Whatever Sam was: his brother, his lover, ex-blood junkie, Alpha, hunter, bitchy, particular, annoying, beautiful and snarky and perfect, Dean would miss any one piece if it went missing.

The light was changing, edging towards dawn, and he smiled down at Sam, more comfortable than he’d ever admit to astride his brother, and Sam smiled back up at him. But he was exhausted, Dean could see that, and it wasn’t long before Sam softened and slipped out of him, and Dean let him roll free. He lay back down, debating on just getting up and finding something to do, letting Sam deal however he did with the wrecked omega on the other side of him, but Sam spoke after a moment, eyes closed, his voice almost a whisper.

“Hey, Dean, who’s Rhonda?”

“What?”

“Didn’t you know a Rhonda? Like, forever ago. I know it’s hard to keep track of all the chicks you banged in school, but wasn’t there a Rhonda?”

“Uh, yeah. No, I remember her. Wasn’t in school. Why?”

“Was she like, I don’t know, fucked up or something?”

“What exactly are you asking, Sammy? Wanna know the dirty details, or what?”

Sam made a frustrated noise and squinted an eye open at him. “I just had my dick in you and you’re gonna be cagey about some chick you screwed a decade ago?”

“Well, jeez, nosy much? Alright, alright,” he said when Sam glared. “Yeah, um. She was weird, I guess? I kinda liked her, though. Where were we? Florida? She never let me fuck her—well, ass only, actually. Said she liked it better. I picked her up a few times and she’d been crying, looked like. Never saw where she lived, said her family wouldn’t like me. Most girls would bring me home just because of that,” he chuckled, but Sam didn’t seem amused. “Anyway… I don’t know, Sam, she just seemed like poor Florida white trash, you know? She was cute, a little wild. Liked to drink and smoke, was always trying to poke me with her cigarette for some dumb reason. She had a lot of scars for bein’ so young, probably just teenage angst and some razor…blades… Oh. Fuckin’… No way. Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re shitting me, right? It can’t—he can’t— _h_ _ow_ —”

“I dunno, Dean. It is what it is.”

“Fuck. Who else did he say? She, whatever? Joey?”

“I figure, you know, Ellen and Jo? It’s a kid, eight. I don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy, but they left. It’s just Ellen and this one in there now. They both, Joey and Rhonda, they’re the ones that faced Alastair the most, I think.”

“God.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, you know, uh, he. He, um. Alastair,” Dean forced the name out, “he said he _made_ one of Jens’ personalities. He, I don’t know, they, _she_ , liked to be cut. Or something. Must be who he was talking about.”

“Made? How?”

“Man, I dunno how all that works. Drugs or abuse or, I just don’t know, Sam. I doubt he knows, either,” Dean said, lifting his head to look over at Jensen. There was dried blood on his bottom lip and more at his shoulder, and except for the tiny, shallow breaths that were moving his chest minutely, he was limp, like something washed up on a beach.

“Jared—” he refused to stumble over that name as well “—said he used to have shock therapy. What’d he call it, ECT?”

“Electroconvulsive therapy.”

“Yeah, that. Guess it wipes memories. Jared would take him in to have it done when he was…off. I don’t know what else Alastair did to him, but he could wipe it away with shock therapy. Alastair told me that part. Jared didn’t know,” Dean said, compelled to defend him at the look Sam was giving. “He thought it was helping Jensen. He didn’t like it. Threatened to do it to me,” he added reluctantly. “’Cause I kept running off at first.”

He could see the hurt in Sam’s eyes at what had been and the fear at what might have been, could see his brother trying to figure out what to do with this information and how to stifle the useless rage he felt. Dean moved onto his back and shut his eyes. After a moment, Sam slipped off the foot of the bed. He went around to Jensen and gently rolled him over and Dean heard something drag along the floor and the clicking of metal, then Sam grabbed a wad of clothes and headed for the door.

“Will you stay here with him? For a while? He probably won’t wake up right away, but just in case. He’ll be okay when he does.”

“Sure about that? I don’t wanna wake up with my throat cut.”

“You won’t. I’m sure.”

“Where you goin’?”

“Just…need a minute.”

“Okay, Sammy. Sure. Holler if you need me?”

“Thanks. I’m not leaving, just…gotta…”

“S’okay, little brother.” Dean waved a hand at him.

Dean listened to Sam’s retreat. Couldn’t say he blamed him. It was Sam’s way, whether he knew it or not. There was no running from yourself, but who the hell was Dean to say anything about that? Besides, Sam wasn’t Jared.

 _He’s not,_ Dean insisted sleepily, hearing Sam open and close the front door. That’s what this was about, Sam trying to put distance between knowing what Jared had been capable of, what he’d done out of love, and what Sam had and might do for the same reason. The lengths he would go to.

Dean heard a muffled thud, and then another. _Gunshots?_ he wondered, holding his breath. The sound came again, and then a hollow clatter. _Chopping wood won’t stop the rage,_ his mind supplied, and he thought of Rhonda, with her short, soft curls and her bruised mouth and scarred legs and tiny round ass in pink satin panties and that hollow look in her big brown eyes.

 _Saving people… Didn’t save her. Didn’t know. Didn’t want to know? I wonder if she’s still alive?_ Dean opened his eyes and looked at Jensen’s back. _Probably not._

He scooted closer to Jensen and leaned up to see his face. Still bloody, but he was breathing easier, slower. His hands were cupped together…and bound. Wrists cuffed in soft leather, linked together by a D-ring, and Dean could see a cable, like a bike would be locked up with, snaking from the ring and over the edge of the bed. He knew it was bolted to the floor.

Dean closed his eyes again and let the odd rhythm of Sam’s pain lull him back to sleep, his fingertips on Jensen’s back, and he dreamed of cuffs around his own wrists, of being caned and violated, and Sam— _Not-Sam_ telling him he loved him.

This time he knew it was Jensen that woke him up. The omega was playing with his fingers, pushing on them like piano keys. He smiled shyly when Dean focused on him, and Dean couldn’t help but smile back before smooshing his face into the pillow, scratching it that way rather than taking his hands away from his twin.

“Rough night?” Jensen asked and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. Most of the blood was gone, but there was a streak of it on his cheek still. Sam’s bite was hidden against the pillow tucked against Jensen’s shoulder.

“Nah. You okay?”

Jensen didn’t answer. His smile trembled slightly and his fingers twitched, tightened, laced with Dean’s.

“Want me to get Sam?”

“No. Is he mad?”

“Not at you. Or…any of you.”

“Not hurt?”

“Us? Nope. You got the worst of it.”

“I hate this,” Jensen whispered, opalescent eyes filling with tears. “Sometimes I think I can’t do it. Can’t be…this thing. Things. Sam shouldn’t have to put up with this—”

“Kid, he’s put up with me his whole life, and he had no choice. He chose you, okay?”

“Okay, but…but, what about this?” Jensen asked, tugging Dean’s hand down, pressing the back of it against his stomach. “It doesn’t have a choice. And Sam wouldn’t choose this, would he?”

“Don’t know until you ask him. Not that it counts, but I would. Choose it. If I could. We’ll take care of you,” Dean said when Jensen gave him an incredulous look.

“Dean, hunters aren’t the only thing I’m worried about. What if she hurts it? What if _I_ hurt it?”

“Do you remember what happened last night?”

“No. But I know it was Rhonda. She always, like, slams doors afterwards. In my head, bangs around, makes me all jumpy.”

“Does she know about the baby? Does Ellen?”

“Ellen does. She keeps her opinions to herself, though. But she’s happy you’re here. Rhonda… I don’t know. I can’t talk to her. Never have. She’s different.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and decided he was not going to explain why she was different.

Jensen was staring at him, tears drying in the corners of his eyes, and this close in the pale morning light seeping through the heavy curtains, Dean could see the amazing spectacle of Jensen’s irises in detail. There was a night’s sky worth of sparkling, reflective gold stars of all shapes and sizes dusted in a pinwheel pattern over the deep brown, spinning out from the edges of the pupil, and every small movement created iridescent ripples of colour. Sapphire and violet, silver, gold, emerald and amber, each little speck glittered and flashed while the larger bits held on to light and beamed it steadily out. Blue was the predominant colour this morning, a blue like Mary Winchester’s eyes, like her birthstone; Dean had looked up everything having anything to do with his mother over the years. Birthstone, zodiac sign, songs in the charts and famous events that happened on her birthday.

“You want me to have it?”

“Jens, it’s none of my business. You do what’s best for you.”

“I’m asking you. Do you want me to? Would you like it if I did?”

“Ah, man, look,” he started, trying to pull his hand back, but Jensen held it against his belly, and he felt something else. Jensen was hard, his cock nudging against Dean’s wrist. He was still cuffed, too. Dean traced the cable where Jensen had rolled over and it was running under his side.

“Jensen, I don’t—shit, I can’t—I, I—” Dean stammered, and it helped not at all when Jensen opened his grip on Dean’s hand and let his cock slip in between their palms.

“You like that I’m pregnant, though. I could see it on your face when I told you. You like that your little brother knocked me up. Even looked a little jealous.”

“Am not!” he protested, but it came out weak. Jensen was destroying his ability to reason with the way he was humping against Dean’s hand, filling his palm up with slippery precome. Dean wanted to bring his hand to his mouth and lick it up, remembering the way it tasted last night when Jensen had been fucking his throat.

Jensen gave him a coy look, wiggling closer, but the cord was only so long.

“I think you are. But who are you jealous of? Wanna put a baby in me yourself? Or do you wish Sam had put one in you when you were in heat?”

“Oh my god.”

“Or,” Jensen persisted, tightening Dean’s hand around his cock, “do you wonder what it would have been like to have Jared’s baby? To have stayed an omega and made one with him? He wanted children, but I was too fucked up to give him one. You could’ve. He would have loved it so much. Loved you even more for doing it.”

“Christ, kid—”

“That’s such a weird swear word. _Christ_. I like it, just sounds mean. Sharp. You’re right, I need to tell Sam. I will, soon. I want to keep it. I do, I’m just scared. I’m sorry if I did anything bad last night. I can’t remember. I never remember her. I wish I could make her go away! What did I do? Did I try to hurt you? I must’ve or Sam wouldn’t have done this,” he said, pushing the link between his cuffs against Dean’s hand. The more he talked, the faster the words came. “I always hurt someone. You won’t let me hurt the baby, will you? You’ll watch me. You won’t leave, right? Sam and you, you’ll stay together? You have to stay together. Sam loves you so much, Dean. More than me, but he’ll love this baby, too. Like Jared would’ve. I should have been better—”

“Hey, hey, hey. Jensen, slow down. I’m gonna go get Sam, okay?”

“No! No, just stay here, please? I’m fine. Fine, I promise. Dean? Will you fuck me?”

“Jensen—”

“ _Please_?” Jensen begged, surging towards him, the cable keeping him from getting as close as he wanted. It tightened and jerked his hands away from Dean’s, but he bucked his hips, cock wet and thick in Dean’s grasp and it would have been cruel to stop touching him, Dean figured.

_Fuck it. Sam wanted me in here for a reason. Keep Jensen company, keep him from feeling alone. Jen needs this to be okay? Fine. We all need something, don’t we?_

He grabbed Jensen’s hip and pulled. The cable had no more slack, and Jensen ended up on his stomach and Dean dragged him back until his arms were stretched out. He hooked one of Jensen’s knees over his forearm and pushed it up and pinned him like that, legs spread. The movement left Jensen’s cock bent down and visible between his thighs. Dean rubbed his own along it, jabbing up between Jensen’s cheeks with each thrust, and he could feel the tip getting more and more slick each time. He’d been hard since Jensen had put his hand on his belly, when he’d thought for only the briefest moment of his brother fucking this creature in heat. How that must’ve been for Sammy; Dean’s doppelganger laid out and willing and eager before him. He bet Sam hadn’t even hesitated beyond logistics. If Jensen had said he wanted him and it would work, would be what he needed, Sam would’ve have done it.

Jensen was face down, hips canted up, holding still, waiting, patient for once.

“You with me, kid?” Dean asked, nudging in deeper, hands and face carefully outside of Jensen’s range of movement.

“Yes, Dean,” was the muffled reply.

“You know,” Dean said, his eyes down low, seeing how it looked when his own body was slowly spread open, and blushing at the sight, “you gave me a lot of flak before about not being a good omega. Not being more like you.”

“S-sorry. Oh, oh—”

“Think I could get you pregnant? Think I’m enough like Sam? _Alpha_ enough? You want that? We could take turns putting babies in you. Would you like that?”

Jensen finally raised his face from the mattress, rolling his eyes back to peer up at Dean, and odd stretch to his lips that wasn’t quite a smile.

“You’re gonna be good, Jensen. You’re not gonna hurt it. Or yourself. Or Sam, or me. Say it.”

“Be g-good,” Jensen gasped, Dean’s body crushing the words out of him.

“That’s right,” Dean said, his cock the praise as he drew it slowly out of Jensen’s slick hole. Dean grasped his shaft and moved it in a circle, opening Jensen wide around him before dropping heavily back into him. “Say it again.”

“I’ll be good!”

“I’ve heard that before,” came Sam’s voice from the doorway.

“Alpha! Sam, Sam—oh!” Jensen cried, and Dean didn’t stop. He closed his eyes and fucked Jensen and let his brother watch him do it. One hand on Jensen’s shoulder, the other still tucked under his knee, he pried Jensen open, pulled him taut against the cable, stretched him out, and opened his own legs wider so Sam could see there, too, see his body and see where he was in Jensen, see his purpled cock neglected and leaking a wet spot into the blankets.

Jensen was wriggling, trying to see Sam, but Dean kept him pinned. Neither of them needed to see Sam to know he was there, to know how he felt. His scent was sunshine and split wood, sap and iron. He smelled like he loved them, and it got stronger as he came closer. Dean heard clothing drop to the floor and then Jensen whined when Sam ran his hands over Dean’s hips and ass.

Dean kept his eyes closed and his forehead between Jensen’s shoulders as Sam touched him, his hands cat-tongue rough and pitch sticky, and his breath was hot and wet as Sam’s lips followed his hand’s path. Thumbs spread Dean wide and the soft flick of his little brother’s tongue against his hole made his hips stutter and pause. Jensen whined again, as if he were in pain, but Dean kissed his neck to quiet him as Sam kissed him _there_ and he wasn’t sure if he liked it, if he wanted it, if he could let Sam take him where this inevitably would lead. He was sore, and tired still, and felt inside-out already. This was too much. He was falling, picking up speed with no perspective on how close the ground was, how hard he was going to hit when he did. But Sam was here with him now, had him, would help him, wouldn’t let him crash down.

Sam opened his mouth wide, and the feel of teeth and tongue against his ass made him shudder, made Dean copy the motion, his own teeth grazing Jensen, and Jensen undulated beneath him, bearing his already bruised and torn neck and Dean wanted to bite him. He tasted old blood, and sucked, and then fresh blood as a tooth caught and snagged on a puncture, opened it again. But Dean held back, not knowing if it was right, if it should be done, if he _was_ enough like Sam, if it was okay with Sam, and anyway, his little brother’s tongue had won its way inside his body and all he could do was moan and push back onto that feeling.

It was not enough as much as he had been afraid of too much a moment ago. Sam spread him wide and let him fuck himself with quick little jumps of his hips, and Jensen was so wet around him, a numbing pressure as if Dean was building up suction with his cock the more he moved. Jensen was still struggling, pulling on the cable binding his hands, kicking his feet, rubbing his bloody neck against Dean’s mouth, and Dean could taste the want on him, like white chocolate on his lips, soft, sultry and melting under him.

“Do you wanna get him off, Dean?” he heard, and then felt Sam’s wide tongue dig down deep, under his balls and lapping for where he was inside Jensen, and there was a sucking noise and Jensen squealed as Sam wrapped his lips around his cock, lifting it from the bed where it was trapped, and swallowing it down as much as he could, his cheek ending up pressed against Dean’s sac. There was a thump when he let it out of his mouth and Jensen made a helpless, begging cry.

“Huh, Dean? Wanna fuck him until he comes? There’s a way. Hands-free.”

It was that or bury his teeth to the gums in Jensen’s shoulder just to hear the noise he would make, to find out what Sam would do, to see how it made him feel, so he chose to take what Sam was offering instead. It was the safer bet.

Dean pushed off of Jensen, feeling as pulled on as Jensen looked, and Sam said, “Hold him like that.”

Still between his knees, Dean gripped his thighs and kept him from moving, from rolling onto his back to see them like he wanted to. Jensen twisted his upper body a little, peering under his arm at Sam as he moved off the bed and to the closet. While he rummaged, Dean shifted, using his knee to keep Jensen’s legs open. He was so wet, his hole soft and fluttering, and Dean traced around it with his fingertips and couldn’t resist bringing them to his mouth after, and then he bent down and licked, sealed his mouth over Jensen and sucked. Slick flooded over his tongue and he loved the taste, the feel, the numbness, the way Jensen shuddered and pushed against him eagerly as if he was starved of sensation, and Dean distantly envied the omega for being able to offer himself this way. He never had, he’d fought becoming a true omega up until the very last moment, but he couldn’t help wondering now what it must really be like: content, willing, trusting, submissive, knowing your purpose clearly.

Like a dream, the idea of that.

“Fuck, you are beautiful,” Sam said. He was close again, watching Dean lick Jensen until his jaw began to ache, and Dean sat up, wiping his chin before sliding his fingers inside Jensen. Two, then three, and four easily.

“That’s good, Dean. Open him up.”

The praise made Dean blush and duck his head, but Sam knelt next to him, lifted his face and kissed him. He felt Sam’s fingers alongside his in Jensen.

“More,” he instructed, lips sticky against Dean’s, and he pushed. Dean’s knuckles met resistance, but Sam kept pushing and Jensen was making soft noises into the mattress, so he rolled his hand and couldn’t help the surprised gasp when he slipped inside Jensen, could suddenly feel Jensen’s pulse against the back of his hand. He hadn’t tucked his thumb and he used it to caress Jensen’s cock as best he could, and Sam was still kissing him and whispering, “Good, like that, good boy,” to them both as Jensen keened and jerked on the cable.

Sam had his other hand on the back of Dean’s head, balancing them both, and the pressure there made Dean think Sam was trying to keep him from pulling away, but he had no intention of doing that. Now, or ever again, and when Sam’s touch left his head and slid down his body, he kept his mouth open to Sam’s and shifted his knees apart as best he could.

Slippery from Jensen and from spit, Sam’s long fingers pushed easily, gently, into him, and he suddenly remembered what Sam had said about not being able to get his hand inside him like he could with Jensen. The thought made him dizzy with wanting to try and with fear. He had to break Sam’s kiss for a moment to breathe, the tips of Sam’s fingers dipping inside of him.

Sam was watching him with a smile bouncing the corners of his mouth when he opened his eyes.

“Beautiful,” Sam said again, quietly, and Dean could only blink, feeling stunned. Jensen twisted, filling his palm up with slick, and Dean’s cock jumped out of Sam’s grip and Sam laughed.

“Let me show you,” he said, drawing Dean’s hand out.

Something shiny was on the bed next to Sam’s knee, silver and round, roughly the size of a pool ball, and it was very heavy when Sam put it in Dean’s hand. A stainless steel ball bearing, it had a short, slender bar welded carefully to it, maybe three or four inches long and U shaped with another smaller ball on the other end. The whole thing was tweaked as if Sam had pushed on one side and pulled on the other. Its function was obvious.

“Like a knot…” Dean said, the thing frighteningly rigid and almost exactly the size he remembered.

Sam nodded and took it from him. Jensen buried his face against his arm when he felt the chill metal against his hole. Sam held it in place as he leaned over Jensen.

“Hey,” he called softly to the trembling creature, “look at me, honey.”

One dark, glittering eye peered up at Sam.

“You’re okay, Jen. Nothing bad happened. You didn’t do anything wrong. Remember what Dean told you to say?”

“Yes, Alpha,” came the muffled reply

“So, say it again.”

“Good. I’ll be good.”

“You are good,” Sam said, and pushed on the ball. Jensen’s body opened impossibly and sucked it inside. Jensen’s hips jerked as it settled, nestling down right where it should against his prostate, the weight pulling the curve of the bar snug against his taint. The smaller ball was against his pubic bone, next to the base of his cock, securing the thing in place, and Jensen’s cock suddenly gushed, precome pulsing out of him. He thrashed, and Dean automatically clamped back down on him, holding him still as he writhed.

“Alpha, please!” Jensen cried. “Please, fuck me, Sam, please!”

“No, baby,” Sam said. “Dean’s gonna do it.”

He’d forgotten that’s what Sam had said he wanted. It had gotten lost somewhere between half his hand in Jensen and Sam playing with his ass and the memory of a thick, hard knot inside him, and he looked at his brother blankly. Sam rolled his eyes, but his smile was sweet and knowing, and he put his hand back to Dean’s head and guided him forward, over Jensen.

The metal was still slightly cooler than Jensen’s skin when the head of Dean’s cock slid over it, following the slender bar into Jensen’s body. The ball inside was the same, just a degree or two off, and it raised goosebumps on Dean’s skin to feel it. Sam’s hands were on him, warming him and pushing until he was fully sheathed, and Jensen was almost sobbing into his own arm. Dean could see Sam’s mark on his shoulder, a little bloody now, bruising blue, but healing already.

When Jared had bitten him, it hadn’t healed for a long time. A month or more he’d had scabbed-over puncture wounds, and the bruise had been enormous, yellow-green. Jared had fretted over it, worrying that the medication Dean was on was messing with his immune system. The problem wasn’t that, it was that Dean wasn’t Jensen, didn’t have his inherent healing abilities. Jensen’s scars from Jared were faint, almost invisible, though he’d been bitten many, many times probably. Dean’s had been very visible. Too visible, and Sam had seen them right away. Had wanted to give Dean his own.

He remembered now, feeling Sam’s hands on his hips, his lips on his spine, how Sam had grabbed him, lifted him, how Sam had been going for his neck, intending on claiming him the same way Jared had, how everything had flipped in that moment, because Dean had _wanted_ Jared to bite him, had needed it to happen, part of his shaky plan to get off the drugs that were making him crazy, keeping him from finding his way home. Once he was home, it had been Sam forcing himself on him, doing something Jared hadn’t even done by trying to claim him that way.

Jensen had saved him from Sam, for a little while anyway. And _being_ Jensen had saved Dean from Jared, in a way. Jensen had saved him, had made Sam happy, and the damn kid had the worst fucking life, really, and was still determined to do the best that he was capable of and right now all he wanted in return was to feel something good.

Dean could do that for him. It was the only thing right now he really wanted to do, actually. He knew they were on the eve of destruction. Again. But he couldn’t care. Didn’t care that he couldn’t care. It didn’t matter. One day, eventually, he wasn’t going to be around to take away the word’s sharp objects and belts, and the world would go the way it wanted to and everything he’d done would amount to nothing anyway. But this mattered. Jensen and Sam and how they felt, what they needed. They mattered, and Dean cared very much about them.

He leaned down over Jensen, pressing his body full length along Jensen’s back, and circled his hips, feeling that hard, unforgiving piece of metal against the base of his cock, right where it should be if he had a knot. If he were an Alpha. God, the implications of that. What if he’d shown up in that other place with a needy little brother clone begging for his cock? How long would Sam have been able to withstand a demanding Alpha in place of his own brother?

Dean closed his eyes, light headed and ready to come at the thought, and then Sam stuck his tongue in his asshole, and he almost did.

“Jesus, Sammy, you gotta stop that.”

There was a laugh and a quick bite to his ass cheek and that helped some, the pain bringing him back from the edge. Sam sprawled out next to them, fingers poking and petting, dancing over them both, smiling like it was his birthday when Dean started moving. It seemed Sam was following the same line of thought.

“I’ve been wondering if you could get him off without me,” he said.

Jensen lifted his head, watching Sam’s hands as they withdrew their touch, and Dean saw a shadow of panic darken his face.

Sam tucked one arm behind his head and his other hand on his own cock. “I think you can do it, Dean. I think maybe that’s what all the biting is about. Maybe Jen has some Alpha tendencies, which means you do, too. Or maybe you both are just good at mimicking. Either way—”

“Alpha,” Jensen started, his voice weak with what Dean was doing.

“Shut up, Jen,” Sam said. “I want him to be able to do this for you.”

He rolled onto his side, up on his elbow, closer but still not touching, and he leaned to speak directly, softly, into Dean’s ear. “You look so good fucking him. You do it, and maybe I’ll start leaving you here with him. Hunt on my own, let you get fat and domestic. Cage you both up if you get out of line.”

Dean couldn’t repress a shiver or the self-conscious laugh, but he didn’t say no. Instead, he shifted onto his knees, dragging Jensen up with him.

Sam’s fantasies and approvals and occasional directions humming in his head, Dean lost himself in the simple action of fucking, for once, for a moment at least, not caring about anything else but the heat, the slick slide, his brother’s voice and Jensen’s cries. Nothing else mattered. Not Cas, not hunting or the end of the world or saving people. He felt so done with everything but this. This: Sam and Jensen and pleasure and the sun through the window and not having to be anything he wasn’t. The world could burn if he could just do this forever, be here, always.

But that was a fucking joke, wasn’t it? This life was never going to let him be, and a bitterness, bone-deep and aching, had his fingers digging into Jensen’s back as if he could hold on to the dream that was slipping away. Jensen protested, a noise that pissed Dean off suddenly. He grabbed Jensen harder and slammed into him, just like life was always fucking him.

Sam went silent finally, stroking himself, and Dean wanted payback. He thought about Cas, about the things he let the treacherous angel do to him, and he pulled out of Jensen just move to the balls of his feet, crouching, gripping Jensen’s hips for balance, and used his weight and the leverage the position gave him to try to destroy Jensen like Castiel had learned to do to him.

Sweat trickled down his sides as he wondered how long his thighs could hold him up like this. Jensen shivered beneath him, legs going wide, chest and belly dipping. He moaned, a long, shuddering sound, and flailed, grabbing the sheets, struggling to find Sam. It wasn’t going to work; there was just something about Sam. About being a true Alpha. Jensen needed him, and Dean could relate.

“Sammy—”

When Sam laughed low in his throat and got to his knees, moved in front of Jensen and lifted him by his chin so he had to go up onto his hands and take Sam’s cock in his mouth, Dean thrust as hard as he could, making Jensen gag on his brother and making Sam gasp and he kept doing it until Sam was clutching at Jensen’s shoulders, curled over him, bumping against Dean as he came with a surprised, open-mouthed cry. Only then did Dean stop trying to take his frustration out on Jensen’s body and the moment he relaxed, his orgasm hit, short and sharp, and he fell away from Sam and Jensen, breathing hard. Sam instantly took over the space, plunging four fingers deep into Jensen.  _Pushing_ , grinding that ball inside the omega and Dean heard Jensen’s come spurting onto the sheets over and over, like a kid emptying a squirt gun.

As soon as he could get his feet under him, he got up and went to find his duffel bag. He could feel Sam’s eyes on his back as he left the room without a word.

Showered and shaved and put mostly back together, he spent the rest of the morning working on the Impala. Filling in the dings with the little paint kit, checking the tires, oil, and water, he wanted the familiar motions to relax him like they usually did, but it wasn’t working. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t figure out if it was him, Jensen and his whole deal, what it had done and was doing to him and Sam, if it was Cas—it definitely was Cas, at least in part, but he found he had come to accept that the angel was lost to him. It hurt, goddamn did it hurt, but he wasn’t scrambling to deny it anymore. Sam might still think there was a way to fix it, that they could talk the angel down from on high, Dean couldn’t see the point in trying.

 _There_ was the problem.

Not caring. Not wanting to try. He felt angry and lethargic and impotent, and maybe it was showing. Maybe Sam was right to tease him about staying here, maybe Sam knew better than he did and was trying to do him a favour, and the fucked part of it, what was pissing Dean off, was how appealing it was. How tired he felt, how sick of it all he truly was.

Somewhere along the way this had become a thing, and it was making him feel dead inside. Without that drive to fix everything, there was nothing else to him and he might as well be a house pet. Maybe it was what he _should_ be if he could give up like this so easily, if a lover and trusted friend going dark side was enough to make him throw in the towel, maybe he should just slink back inside and let Sam collar and leash him, and tell him to keep the tether short so he didn’t get lost or hurt himself somehow.

And what the fuck was with his brother thinking like that, anyway? Since when did Sam ever let him throw in the towel so easily, let him get away with not caring, with not doing The Right Thing?

Dean put his tools away and promised Baby a wash and a wax later and stormed his way back inside.

It was quiet in the house, and Dean discovered there was a back door. Sam was visible through the dirty, ancient glass, moving around in the little shed out back.

Jensen was asleep on the rumpled bed again. It softened the knot in Dean’s chest to see Jensen sprawled on his back, one hand over his belly, able to do in his sleep what he was yet incapable of awake. Sam had freed him from the cable. That he wanted to crawl into the bed with his twin made him clench his fists, shut the door, spin on his heel and stalk away.

He ate two bowls of cereal and was determinedly scanning the news feeds online for monsters when Sam appeared, smelling like jack pine and dust and trailing cobwebs.

“Find anything?” he asked amicably.

Dean didn’t answer.

“O-okay. What’s your deal, Dean? Why all of a sudden—”

“That was fucked up in there, Sam. You can’t turn me into another omega bitch for you, okay? Someone already tried that.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean for a moment, head tilted. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“Oh, then what the fuck?

“He needs to know that I’m not trying to to do exactly that, I’m not trying to replace him. He’s afraid I’m gonna push him out now that…that I—that you’re here. It’s insurance in a way, too.”

“Insurance?”

“What if I get hurt, or killed? You gotta take care of him.”

Dean looked up at Sam, forgetting to glare. “Alright…fine,” he agreed, his voice rough. He glanced back at the computer, at a domestic violence report from three towns east, and he came up with another reason to care, to feel something. “Why you gotta talk to him the way you do, though?”

Sam sighed. “Dean, if I let him make any decisions beyond what colour to paint the fucking walls, he gets totally overwhelmed. I’ve tried being reasonable, asking for his preferences, whatever, and he just…loses it. If I keep him focused… I dunno. I figure…this must be how his Alpha talked to him… Right?”

Dean ignored the question and decided to twist the knife. “You know who you sound like? Dad. Thinking you always know what’s best for everyone.” It was doubled edged and hurt him just as much as he intended to hurt Sam.

Sam looked at him, tonguing his bottom lip. Dean saw anger brighten his eyes, bring a slash of colour to either cheek, and he was irrationally happy about it. But Sam refused to be baited. Instead, he nodded to himself and glanced out the window.

“Well, do you have a better way to do it? Know something I don’t?” he asked.

 _Yes. I know I don’t want a kid being brought up thinking that’s the only way to talk to people you love._ “No.”

“Besides, he’s got you now, too. He’s different with you. Seems like you two sorta look out for each other in a weird way. As long as he knows he’s got us both, I think he’ll be okay. Maybe even get a little better.” Sam smirked suddenly. “And you don’t have to fuck him if you don’t want to.”

“Fuck you, Sam.”

Sam laughed outright. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, and caught the spoon Dean half-heartedly flung at him. He put it in the sink and then reached cautiously around Dean for the bowl and put that out of reach as well before sitting in the chair.

“What’s bugging you, really? It’s not just what I said, and besides, Dean, I usually save that for the bedroom, you know?”

“Well, fuckin’, keep it that way.”

“Okay. Is that really it?”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know, man.” He scrubbed his hands over his face roughly. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on anymore. Feel like I’m just spinnin’ my wheels. Can’t seem to get anywhere.”

Sam leaned back and picked at the seam on his jeans, a habit he’d had since he was a boy. Dean saw the dark half-moon of his bite on Sam’s wrist.

“Yeah, I know. We’ve never had the high ground, though. Hard to tell if we’re making any progress from here,” Sam said. “Just gotta keep going, I guess.”

Dean snapped the laptop closed and tossed it on the couch next to him, ignoring Sam’s frown at the roughness. “Do we, Sam? I mean, c’mon. When do we ever get a fucking break? Like… Why _us_? Why you and me, huh? _Nobody_ else can keep the world from slittin’ its wrists, really? Fuckin’…half the time it’s our fault, seems like. Some dumb damn thing we did, not knowing any better.”

“ _Did_ we do this?”

“Wait… This what?”

“Let’s see, what’s the score right now?” Sam leaned forward, long fingers ticking off. “We’ve got Crowley. Not our fault. He’s killing monsters himself, which is actually a win for us. There’s this Purgatory, which we don’t know much about but I don’t think we had anything to do with.”

“But Cas—”

“That’s _not_ your fault, Dean. Whatever deal he made with Crowley, that’s on him. He did what he felt he needed to without asking us for help and that’s his fucking bad, not yours. You weren’t even here, by no fault of your own. Heaven’s having a pillow fight, not our fault, either. You didn’t make God go play skeeball.”

“We still gotta clean up the mess, don’t we?”

“Since when have you not wanted to kick some monster ass?”

 _Since I lost you down a hole. Since you came back with a hole in you. Since I’ve destroyed every family I’ve ever had, and I’m scared it’s gonna happen again._ “I’m just tired, Sam.”

On the table, Sam’s phone buzzed. As he picked it up, he said, “Put some coffee on, ’cause it’s Bobby.”


	11. Chapter 11

“What have you got, Bobby?”

Dean watched as Sam nodded, frowned, and then his eyebrows shot up. Dean gestured to get his attention and Sam nodded again and put the phone on speaker.

“—find Eleanor. We need to know if there’s a way to keep Purgatory closed, and I’m thinking she knows how.”

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

“’Cause she’s _from_ Purgatory.”

“What? How?”

“Had an eighty-five-year-old picture of her in my hand that puts her at the scene of the last time someone tried to pop Purgatory. She got through, took a ride in some poor maid conveniently nearby.”

“The Eleanor Visyak who gave me the dragon sword?” Dean confirmed. “Your old girlfriend is a monster?”

“Guess so,” Bobby grumped. “ _Anyway_ , I think I know where she is, so I’m gonna head out and catch up with her, see if I can’t get anything useful from her.”

“And then what?”

“And then nothing, Dean.”

“O-okay,” Dean said, and put his hands up even though Bobby couldn’t see. He cocked an incredulous eyebrow at Sam and was surprised when Sam glared back at him. He cleared his throat and asked, “You need us to come along?”

“No. Hopefully I can find her before the Odd Couple does.”

“Alright, Bobby,” Sam said. “Good luck. Call us—”

“I will. Hang tight, boys.”

Sam poked his phone, still glaring at Dean.

“Dude, what?”

“You were seriously gonna insist Bobby gank this lady?”

“ _Well_.”

“Dean, everything isn’t black and white. You don’t get that by now? As far as we know she hasn’t done anything bad.”

“We know she ain’t human. Seems like it’s only a matter of time before they all show their true colours. Even if it takes a century.”

“She helped us before.”

“So’d Crowley. So’d Cas.”

“You can’t start making everything personal.”

“Since when hasn’t it been personal, Sam? A monster killed our mom, if you’ve forgotten. It’s been personal from the get-go.”

“Dean, you were just ready to quit. Now you wanna kill ’em all?”

“Must’ve been your pep talk.”

“But Eleanor—”

“She’s a monster, Sam. End of story.”

“Who’s a monster?” Jensen asked, shuffling into the room. Both hunters jumped at his voice, but Jensen didn’t seem to notice. He was sleep-slow and pale, and as he neared Dean could smell a sourness to his scent toothpaste only barely concealed. He’d been sick again.

“Bobby’s on a hunt,” Sam said and made a move to rise, but Jensen headed for Dean.

There was nothing to do but lift his arm and let Jensen press himself against his side. Jensen drew his legs up onto the couch and curled himself into a ball, head on Dean’s chest. He closed his glassy eyes and shivered, but relaxed when Dean laid a hand on his side. Sam shrugged when Dean cast a confused look his way.

“Monster?” Jensen repeated. “I heard you say Cas’ name. I thought—the angels aren’t monsters, are they?”

Dean scoffed but Sam interrupted him. “Not technically. I mean, they’re not human, of course, but—”

“They’re just less evil than the rest,” Dean mumbled bitterly. Thoughtlessly.

“Dean—”

“So that makes me a little evil,” Jensen said.

“Ah, fuck,” Dean sighed. _It has to be late enough in the day for a shot. Just one_ , he bargained with himself.

“’Cause Bobby told me what happened with the angels where I’m from. That I’ve got some kind of mutated Grace in me. If the angels are monsters, or evil, then so am I. But ya’ll might be, too. Did you know that?”

“How so?” Sam asked. That scent from earlier was back, Dean noticed. Arguing had tainted it, made it sharp, but now, with Jensen in Dean’s arms and Sam’s eyes on them both, his little brother’s pheromones had shifted, gone breathable-gold and warm again.

“Robby said the angels did the same thing here, a long time later,” Jensen murmured, and only Dean saw Sam smile at the name slip. “He thinks maybe that was the last straw. God kicked out the angels this time and gave up on all of us. Couldn’t keep punishing everyone, just turned his back instead. But, so, I guess—I _read_ that God tried to wipe out the children the angels made with humans. What was it—”

“Nephilim,” Sam supplied.

“That’s it,” Jensen said, snap-pointing at Sam. He opened his eyes and smiled up at Dean when he chuckled, the green of Dean’s plaid shirt reflected in them.

Jensen sniffed and touched the bridge of his nose for a moment, tapping there gently before he closed his eyes again, and Sam opened his mouth, a worried crease forming on his forehead, but Jensen kept talking.

“But the books say some of the Nephilim survived the Flood. They were immortal, the first ones. Half-human, half-angel, but their children weren’t. Long-lived, but the more they mixed with humans, the more normal they got until the Grace became just junk DNA. I was thinking, maybe you two have it. Maybe that’s why you can pick up my scent. Maybe it got turned on, triggered somehow. Not everyone notices…it…me, but some people do. Maybe the ones that do have Nephilim ancestors.”

 _That’s a horrifying thought_ , Dean wanted to say, but he didn’t. He felt like an asshole already.

“’S possible,” Sam said, watching Dean like he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. “Skews the view on who’s really human. What really constitutes a monster.”

Dean looked away. Silence draped itself heavily around the room for several minutes, and from the corner of his vision, Dean saw Sam prop his chin on his hand and close his eyes. He was probably exhausted, having slept the least of any of them last night. Jensen was warm under Dean’s hand, over his heart, so that didn’t account for the sporadic shivering that wracked Jensen’s frame. Dean put his free hand to Jensen’s forehead.

“Am I?” Jensen whispered at Dean’s touch. “I’m not. I’m not a monster.”

Sam shifted when he heard Jensen’s voice. When Dean looked up at him, he was glaring daggers at Dean again.

“You’re not a monster, Jens,” Dean said, knowing he deserved Sam’s anger. “Or evil. I’m sorry, kid.”

Jensen wasn’t feverish, at least. Jensen whispered something else, but Dean couldn’t make it out, then what might have been words disintegrated into meaningless noises in the back of Jensen’s throat, coming on the backbeat of his trembling. Dean kept his eyes carefully off of Sam. Instead, he made a depressing game of counting the silver hairs decorating the part in Jensen’s hair, knowing he’d find the same ones on his own head if he took the time to look. He tallied thirteen, triple counted to be sure and was halfway through the fourth round when Jensen finally stopped mewling and moving, and when Dean hazarded a glance at Sam, he was relieved to see that both his brother and Jensen had gone to sleep.

Dean could just reach the remote, and it was shark week. He pushed mute, wiggled down the couch, laying Jensen out straighter, and stared at the screen, wishing his life could be so simple, so pure, as the predators in the show. Just once, that things could be black and white. That he knew what the fuck he was doing.

Sam jerked awake half an hour later, wincing at a kink in his neck. The glare was gone, and Dean almost missed it.

“Go take a nap, Sammy,” he said quietly.

Sam nodded blearily and stood. He stumbled a step towards the hall, then turned back to Dean.

“Get him to eat when he wakes up,” Sam said. “If you can.”

Dean nodded and shooed Sam away with his hand.

On the television, an unborn shark was eating one of its littermates.

“What the fuck,” Dean whispered.

He was watching a ’63 Chevy Nova get the _Overhaulin’_ treatment with subtitles on when Jensen finally stirred.

“Nice colour,” Jensen slurred.

“Gonna look pretty hot when they get the interior together. You okay?”

Jensen sat up, wiping at his mouth. “Uh, sorry. I drooled a little.”

“Whatever. Man, Sam used to soak me when he was a baby.”

“I bet he was really cute.”

Dean couldn’t help smiling. “He was. Had that shag carpet on his head by the time he was one. He would _scream_ if Dad came near him with scissors, so he just left it. You hungry?”

Jensen shrugged, rubbing his eyes. Dean brought him a glass of water.

“Thanks. Where’s Sam, anyway?”

“Naptime. I’m gonna make you something, okay?”

“Wait, um, actually, can… Can we go somewhere?” Jensen asked, watching the car show as he spoke.

“Uh, sure. I guess so. Where?”

“Breakfast. And you need beer. There’s a few things I want. And… I kind of…just want to look. Around. And I wanna ride in the Impala.”

“Well, that’s all you had to say.”

Jensen grinned up at him, eyes silver swirls in his pale face. “Sam and me drove a few times, you know, before. Cleaned her up for when you came back. I miss it.”

“Cars where you come from _suck_. I’ll write Sam a note, you get yourself together.”

Jensen joined Dean ten minutes later. Dean was leaning against the Impala’s door, hands in his pockets, staring at the sparse forest cut back neatly away from the property, watching, as if he expected someone familiar to come out of the trees. He turned towards the crunch of gravel and _damn_.

In black from collar to cuffs, Jensen was wearing frayed jeans, a tee shirt, and a canvas jacket, and Dean could see low-heeled cowboy boots that Jensen must have picked up at a thrift store because they were obviously worn, but  _nice_. Like, expensive nice. His hair was dark with water and slicked back, just long enough so the few strands falling across his forehead were almost in his eyes, which were hidden behind the silver-lensed aviators Dean had given him months ago.

“We can go?” he asked, then tilted his head as Dean just kept looking at him. “What?”

“Uh. Just…nothing. Nothing. Sam wake up?”

“Nope. I’m like a ninja. Note the black.”

“I did. Ninjas don’t wear boots.”

“An urban ninja, then.”

They flashed identical grins at each other, then Dean shook himself. “Let’s go. Ninjas eat pancakes?”

“Of _course_. But I want waffles. Don’t have a waffle maker.”

“I owe you guys a housewarming gift. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

When they pulled in front of the house two hours later, the outside edge of Dean’s right hand was bleeding, bitten, and Jensen was in the back seat, unconscious, blood on his lips and dried tears on his face. Dean had called Sam on the drive home, told him to meet them in the yard.

Jensen had screamed himself raw in Target. It was only when Dean covered his mouth and Jensen had bit down hard enough—Dean thought for a moment he was going to lose that particular piece of flesh—that Jensen had stopped making so much noise that the cops were gonna get called _for sure_. Dean managed to convince a nice red-vested mom-type to let him wrestle Jensen into a changing room instead of calling security.

“He’s, uh, _ow_ , autistic,” Dean said, trying not to wince as Jensen’s jaw clenched and his teeth sunk in deeper. “Just needs a minute to calm down. It’d be really nice of you to just, fu—god, um, let us have some privacy. He’ll be _fine_ , and I’d hate to go home without that waffle maker, you know?” It was _very_ hard to smile with Jensen gums-deep, but all he could do was let him chew on the hand he’d tried, like an idiot, to cover Jensen’s mouth with, and pick him up with his other arm around Jensen’s waist and haul them both into a nearby booth in the middle of the kid’s clothing section. He heard the cart rattle to a stop outside, the lady apparently having taken enough pity on the stunning twins to keep their selections from being re-shelved.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, okay?” Dean barked while Sam carried the limp omega into the house. “We went to go get breakfast and some fucking—” he almost said _prenatal vitamins_ but managed to catch himself. Sam didn’t notice the stutter, too busy arranging Jensen on the couch. “I had to get some stuff and he asked to go. He was fine in the diner.”

It had been everyone else that had been disturbed there. Dean hadn’t given much thought to what the two of them looked like, walking in together, identical twins as far as anyone knew. _Hot_  identical twins, Dean had realised after their waitress had been rendered speechless, hadn’t even written down their order, had just nodded dazedly and hurried away, red-faced, and they’d had not one or two more servers come by, but four, and a cook, scoping them out until Jensen was fidgeting nervously and staring down at his hands because Dean had made him take off his sunglasses. But he’d eaten his waffles and been happy to do so and—shit, maybe the three cups of coffee hadn’t done him any good, but Dean hadn’t thought about that. He and Sam could triple red-eye it with the best of them, but Jensen was so fucking sensitive.

“Goddammit, Sam, I’m _sorry_. It’s not like I wanted him to fucking freak out. Dude, he fucking kissed me in the middle of Target. I mean, it’s one thing—but like, we’re like, like _this_ , you know?” he said, wounded hand flicking back and forth between their faces, hovering over where Sam was checking Jensen’s pulse.

“Alright, Dean. Okay, it’s fine. What set him off? It was _him_ , wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I think so. He didn’t try to strangle me, so it wasn’t that Rhonda chick. He fuckin’…he forgot his sunglasses in the car and he got all nervous in the store. I tried to keep him calm—”

_Tried to distract him. Took him over to the baby section. Got him looking at little camo onesies and sea-creature plushies and the next thing I know he’s got me by the jacket and is babbling about his eyes showing up weird on the store cameras and hunters coming after him and now they’ll know about the baby, and fuck, I don’t even know if his eyes do show up with a flare on camera, and then he was crying and he kissed me and I thought that behemoth in the rebel flag shirt was gonna shit all over its power-scooter, and all I could do was hold on to him until he started screaming for Sam. For his Alpha._

Sam was looking at Dean’s hand. It was bruised and swollen and torn.

“I told you he bites, right?”

“Well, I fuckin’ know now, don’t I?”

“Should go clean that.”

“Sam, I’m sorry.”

Sam took a deep breath. “It’s _okay_ , Dean. I mean, this is Jensen, you know? You didn’t do anything to make it happen. He’s just this way. You got him home. Thank you.”

“Wasn’t like I was gonna leave him.”

Sam didn’t reply, and they both stood for a moment looking down at Jensen.

“It’s weird,” Sam heard, as if Dean was speaking from far away, as if he wasn’t aware he was talking at all, “when I was there, you know? You and Jared were kind of the same, and, and Alastair. And Jared talked about our dad—his dad. Could’ve been him. But I don’t see it with Jensen. Me and him. Am I missing something?”

“Most crazy people don’t know they’re crazy.”

Dean made a face at him. “Thanks.”

“You don’t really want me to answer that.”

Pale green eyes searched Sam’s face. Or maybe they only looked pale because of the dark circles around them. Dean kept moving his injured hand like he didn’t know quite what to do with it.

“What do you want me to say, Dean? You already got pissed at me once today.”

“I know what I said. And I’m not nuts. I mean, not like…not like him. It’s…”

“It’s Dad, isn’t it?” Sam guessed and got it right if the way Dean’s body jerked like he’d been slapped and his eyes ripped away from Sam’s and down to his bloody hand was evidence.

“You were taught to serve and obey, and Dad’s not the only one who’s given you that message. I hear the shit people— _things_ —say to you, and I can imagine the rest. They—the demons, Dad, angels—they all make it sound like because you care you’re weak somehow.”

Dean said nothing, but Sam didn’t expect him to.

“What do you want, Dean?” he asked again, taking a step towards his brother. “In a lot of ways you are like him. Even the personality thing—how many people have you pretended to be over the years? He just doesn’t have the grip on himself that you do. What’s easy for you is messed up in him, but it’s still there. You raised me. You’re more domestic than I am. I don’t care about any of this,” Sam said, indicating the house around them, “except that it makes Jensen happy. Makes you happy, too, doesn’t it?”

Dean was looking up at him again, head tilted to the side, lips pulled down into a small pout Sam knew so well as the one that said Dean was listening, didn’t like what he was hearing, but didn’t have an argument against it.

“But you know what?” Sam said, reaching for Dean’s hand and pulling it close so he could see it better. They were going to have matching scars, different places but the same marks. Dean made a dull noise in this throat and his eyes brushed Sam’s for a heartbeat before he fixed them on his hand.

“Jensen may be an omega, but he’s a fighter. He’s brave and smart. He does what’s right. He’s loyal. He’d fight to the death for the people he loves. It was hard for him not to go back, but he knew it was better for both of them. He didn’t want Jared to keep hurting him, and knew it was hurting Jared that he was so fucked up. He did the unthinkable to save them both. I know—” Sam said when Dean frowned, tried to tug his hand away halfheartedly. “I know Jared didn’t get saved, okay? That’s not the point, and that’s not your fault, or Jensen’s. My point, Dean, is that you and Jen _are_ a lot alike. And it’s good.”

Dean nodded, his eyes distant. Nodded in a way that was mostly him rocking back and forth from heel to toe. What he was doing was acting just like Jensen, but Sam wasn’t going to say that. He didn’t want to lose Dean, get shut out by bravado or embarrassment. Lonely paled next to how Sam had felt waking up with both Dean and Jensen gone.

He smiled, and Dean gave a slow half-blink in response. “Did you like it? Going out with him?”

An actual blink and Dean stopped swaying as he thought. “Yeah. Up until he bit me, I thought we were having a good time. Ow, Sam.”

He was looking at the tear in Dean’s hand, moving his thumb around. “Go wash that out.”

“Bossy.” But he did as he was told.

Sam followed him into the bathroom, ignoring the look Dean gave him. The water was steaming and Dean bit his lip through the procedure, hissed when Sam poured hydrogen peroxide over the wound. Dean rinsed it again and wrapped a clean bandana around it that Sam handed to him.

“Shit throbs,” Dean muttered, then he went from foot to foot and eyed Sam again. “D’you mind?”

Sam leaned against the doorframe. “Not at all.”

He’d seen Dean piss a thousand times before, but had never been allowed to _look_. He thought Dean was gonna argue with him, but for once, his big brother just shrugged and unbuttoned. Dick in hand, he spread his legs and spit once into the toilet before the stream started. It wasn’t anything epic, and Sam could smell the diner coffee, but Sam knew Jensen would be able to tell he was aroused. It was an odd sensation, and Sam wondered what Jensen would make of it. He’d been a little worried, a lot lonely, but the longer he’d waited for them to return the more turned on he had gotten. They were going to come home to _him_. Dean had left him a fucking _note_.

_Sam,_

_Me & the kid went for a drive. Breakfast. Beer. Be right back. _

_(something scribbled out)_

_Dean_

Dean never left him notes unless it was important. Unless he cared. Suddenly, Dean cared enough to keep Sam from worrying. And Jensen trusted Dean enough to go somewhere with him. Sam didn’t understand why that made his heart race and his dick hard, but it did. He felt like he’d done something right for a change, just by being asleep and letting the two of them figure something out without him, and soon they’d be back with him. Both of them, choosing to come back to him.

Dean gave a quick shake as he finished pissing and stepped back, and Sam saw him frown as he tried to work the buttons back into place with his hurt thumb.

“Here,” Sam said. Growled, really. He hadn’t meant to sound that way, but there was no hiding his feelings whether Dean could smell him or not. His erection was obvious against his leg as he moved towards Dean. His older brother backed away from the toilet, away from him, two steps only before he hit the counter, and Sam sank to his knees in the space between Dean and the bathtub.

“Sam.”

He needed to do this. Dean wouldn’t understand what it meant to Sam that he was here. That he’d _left_  this morning and _came back._ That he took Jensen with him. Jensen, crazy, difficult, and a little bit monster; Dean had been nearly in tears when he’d called Sam to tell him what happened in the store. He’d been afraid. Worried about Jensen. Dean was here and he wanted to be here and he wanted this to work, wanted to take care of Jensen and wanted to be with them both. Dean wanted him.

“Sammy.”

A drop of piss at the tip of Dean’s dick was startlingly cool and salty on his tongue and he couldn’t help swallowing, wrapping his lips tightly around Dean’s softness and sucking it deep as his throat worked.

“Oh god,” Sam heard, and he saw Dean’s hands coming up. Dean made another noise when Sam grabbed his wrists and slammed his palms on the counter behind him, and then another, wounded, as Sam kept his hands in place, opened his mouth wide and scooped Dean in, balls and all.

Dean jerked, but Sam pinned him, squeezing hard on his brother’s wrists for emphasis. He looked up. Dean’s eyes were closed tight, his chin almost on his chest, lips wet and apart, and Sam waited. Without moving, letting his mouth drip saliva as it adjusted to being so full, he looked up at Dean until Dean looked back down at him. When he finally did, Sam squeezed his wrists one more time and slowly released them, moving his grip to Dean’s hips instead. The cock in his mouth was filling out, slipping towards the back of Sam’s throat. He swallowed carefully and rolled his tongue. Dean gasped, and then again as if there wasn’t enough air in the room. Sam tugged Dean’s jean down over his hips bones but shoved his ass back against the counter when Dean tried to move, to help.

“ _Okay_.”

Another glance up, and Dean’s staring down at him, lips sucked back between his teeth, and Sam popped them free when he _pushed_ , his own teeth meeting Dean’s groin and digging in. He moved his tongue with more force, straightening out Dean’s cock and then he hollowed his cheeks, unplugging his throat and letting Dean’s balls free.

Sam felt spit hit his knees and soak into his jeans, then his cheek was slick with it when he turned and ducked to lick at Dean’s sac. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean’s right hand lift from the counter. Sam froze, his breath hot over his lips where they were just touching Dean, and he glared. Dean worried his bottom lip between his teeth again for a second, then the hand returned to the counter. His reward, Sam’s lapping tongue.

Mouth open, that slippery, impossibly wide tongue moved back up the length of Dean’s cock, swirled over the head, licked the sides slowly. Curled around it to pull it in so he could kiss it with wet little pulses of his lips, and then he took his mouth away when Dean bucked helplessly. Sam dug his fingers into Dean’s flesh, letting his nails impress crescents.

“Fuck.” Barely a word at all, but Dean settled himself back against the sink once more, his knuckles white.

Sam put his tongue out again, drooling more, and his lap was going to be soaked. Dean was watching it, eyes following shiny strings as they shivered and dripped from Sam’s chin, and then his eyes snapped shut when Sam tucked Dean’s cockhead just inside his mouth, using his top teeth to keep it from jumping away while he caressed the underside, tongue flicking, working insistently at that soft spot until Dean was panting, struggling not to move because every time he did, Sam stopped the maddening motion.

It was so easy. Sam was barely moving except for his tongue. His jeans were dark now with spit and Dean was whimpering, his cock hard and oozing at the tip when Sam finally sucked on it, nursing lightly, swishing the saliva in his mouth around it. He dropped down to his heels, sitting low, holding Dean tightly as he tried to buck, and pulled his cock down with his lips. He suckled, ignoring the rest of Dean’s hard length. Tilted his head from side to side, twisted his lips around it, nibbled, kissed, and Dean sounded like he was losing his mind.

“God, Sam. St—no. Fuck. Y-yes, yeah, god, just, no, _god_ —”

Sam opened his mouth again, wide, and put his tongue out, his head back, and loosened his grip on Dean’s hips. Didn’t take his hands away completely, but gave Dean enough freedom to move, if only a few inches, and Dean used those inches to rub his cock over Sam’s dripping tongue and into his mouth, just _barely_ , and he was begging for more-

“Please, Sammy, just, c’mon, I—I, please!”

But Sam sat still, just too far out of range for Dean to hit the back of his throat, to feel any pressure, only letting him slide the bottom of his cock against his tongue. Almost no friction, no heat, suction, just Dean’s need and twitches of his hips and their eyes locked together, and Dean was almost in tears, Sam would swear to it, but he only blinked patiently up at his big brother and wiggled his tongue minutely, and Dean came. His knees buckled and he bent sharply forward so only the first heavy spurt hit the back of Sam’s throat. The second slid off his tongue and joined the wet mess on his knees and the rest went there with no in between. But he was still holding on to the counter.

“Fuck. Bitch. Fuckin’ tease, dammit, Sam—”

Sam stood so fast he had to breathe through the dizziness, and when he did he sucked down Dean’s words and the air from Dean’s lungs as he sealed their mouths together. Dean hummed, surprised, and tried to lean back, away from Sam pushing his own come over his lips and into his mouth, but Sam caught him by the back of his head and his throat and leaned with him, bending him until his spine was arched sharply over the sink. Another noise, soft and pleased sounding now, broken up as he took what Sam was feeding him. Dean spread his legs, pressing back even though Sam was sure he must be crushing his still hard cock between them, and he hadn’t let go of the counter. Sam had to rip him away.

“Bed.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. He huffed when Sam pushed him when he tried to adjust himself before walking, but he gave up without a fight, let Sam drag him the short distance to the bedroom with a hand gripping his bicep.

Sam kissed him again inside the room, jerking impatiently at Dean’s clothes, letting go for only as long as it took them both to kick off their shoes, and then he shoved Dean down on the bed. The command was clear, and Dean sat, cheeks and chest still flushed by his orgasm, his cock perked between his legs, while Sam pulled what looked like a brand new bottle of lube from a drawer. Dean’s eyes followed the movements as Sam opened it, poured some in his palm and twisted his hand over his own cock a few times, then they met Sam’s again, went wide, but he nodded once, a quick dip of his head telling Sam yes when Sam paused, making sure his intention was clear.

Dean made as if to move, but Sam caught his head again, bent to kiss him, to guide him backwards right where he was so his ass was at the edge of the bed, legs wide and Sam hovering between them. He lifted one of Dean’s knees, his slick fingers finding and pushing inside Dean too fast, he knew it was, but Dean didn’t complain. Sam wondered if he would ever really complain again. Of course he _would_ , but not about this, not about being Sam’s, about doing what Sam wanted him to do when he was naked and spread open and there was no danger, no outside distractions, no reason for Dean to be anything but what Sam wanted him to be, needed him to be.

He went slower with his cock but it was still quicker than Dean was ready for and his eyes went liquid at the corners. He wrapped his hands around the back of Sam’s neck and pulled him down, their foreheads touching as he tried to get Sam’s name through his teeth, but he lost the word when Sam settled inside him with one relentless push. Dean’s cock jumped against their bellies, a tear of come making a sticky web connecting them as Sam’s sheer size rubbed against Dean’s prostate, and more and more appeared as Sam began to move, forced out by his girth and angle.

Sam lifted himself out of Dean’s painful grip on his neck, needing to see Dean, to know what he looked like as he began to thrash under Sam’s body, to arch mindlessly and babble with his lip hard-bitten so there weren’t words, just consonants rising in pitch as Sam fucked him slowly, carefully. It was gorgeous, Dean’s face, like it always was, but never just like _this_ before, never this way because of what Sam was doing to him.

“ _Dean_.”

Round eyes, Spanish moss after the rain, dripping and bright, and he arched again, clutching, tried to pull Sam back to him and whining when Sam pinned him, forced him flat then grabbed his hips and lifted them, curling Dean so his long, thick, tiredly jerking cock was pointed at his own chest. Sam bundled Dean beneath him and let all his weight down, pushing for a place inside his brother he’d never been before, and he was sure he found it when Dean came again with a wild toss of his head and a low, wounded-animal roar that left his mouth open for Sam to kiss, to dip his tongue into, again and again, matching the motion to what he was doing with his hips until he came too, teeth scraping over Dean’s, biting at his chin and throat as he emptied all of his love and need inside him.

Dean gasped and this time he was able to shove at Sam’s chest.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, scooting and pulling Dean with him until they were more or less on the bed.

Dean threw his arm over his eyes, breathing hard and twisting weakly from the aftershocks.

“You okay, dude?”

Dean laughed. “Only you would call me ‘dude’ after something like that.” A pause, then Dean spoke again and surprised Sam completely. “We should’ve done this way before now.”

“W-what, fucking?”

“Yeah, Sam, fucking.” He laughed again, and Sam thought he might actually be delirious. “Shoulda started fucking you when you were, what, fourteen? That summer you were obsessed with wearing running shorts. Goddamn, that was distracting.”

“Really? I thought—”

“Okay, I might be your brother, but I’m not _blind_. Fuckin’ why d’you think Dad made you get rid of them all?”

“They _were_ impractical. But I was hot.”

“Damn right you were.”

“No, I mean—and what do you mean _Dad_?”

“Think he was afraid I was gonna wreck the Impala every time you stretched your legs out.”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously. You’ve been compromising me from the start, I’m thinkin’. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” But Sam was pretty sure he knew exactly what.

“Like ‘why are you so dumb and difficult, Dean?’”

Yeah, that was the look. “Well?”

“I dunno, man. I just… I fuckin’ give up, okay? I don’t care anymore. I mean, not like I don’t _care_ care, I do. About you. Want you to be happy, get what you want. You want me, this, and that weird, me-shaped kid out there, fine. Not like I don’t want the same thing. Always have, Sammy. I mean, I didn’t know about Jensen, but he’s not so bad. Everything else can go fuck itself.”

“You’re all over the place today.”

Dean peeked out from under his arm. “Blame yourself. Fucked my brain stem loose or something. Anyway, whatever. Beer.”

Sam lounged in bed and watched Dean fumble around for clothes, tossing what wasn’t his at Sam’s face so he had to snatch them out of the air or get hit. Piecing himself back together. Another thing Sam saw countless times, but this time he was the one who’d taken Dean apart. Not booze or a hard hunt, nothing else, just Sam and the things Dean had let him do.

“Dean.”

Dean pointed at him, one boot dangling from his hand. “Nuh uh, sister. Don’t. What time is it? Fuck, it’s past six, no wonder I’m all sappy and fucked up. You need a beer, too. I need meat. You need a barbeque. Do you have a barbeque?”

“Yeah, I do. Came with the house, actually.”

“Fire that bitch up. I left a bunch of crap in the car.”

With that, Dean was gone, and Sam smiled to himself.


	12. Chapter 12

_He’s pretty ninja, himself_ , was Jensen’s first waking thought. Dean crept by almost soundlessly. The creaking house gave him away more than anything he did. Dean didn’t turn to see if Jensen was awake as he opened the front door. _Probably thinks I’ll be out for hours. Have I been? Don’t think so. I did something bad. Why_ am _I awake?_

The baby kicked. Or moved. Just a flutter in his belly.

_Oh. Hello, you._

Another tumble inside him. Jensen tried to count, to estimate. It was early to feel something like this, but not much. And things were bound to be different. For one, these humans gestated for nine months at least. Omegas gave birth at seven and a half or eight months, tops. He was just barely starting to show, but that was because this was his first and his womb wasn’t stretched out, and besides, male omegas held their babies higher inside their bodies.

Another internal somersault and Jensen waited to feel nauseated. It was in the right spot, the sensation, but the sickness didn’t manifest.

_Huh. Well, thanks for that. Kick all you want, then._

A stronger whir, as if in answer. For the first time concerning the baby inside him, Jensen smiled. When he did, something pulled on the corner of his mouth and crackled. He automatically licked at it and tasted Dean’s blood, and he remembered everything.

Jensen shot upright, tried to stand, to go after Dean, but he fell back to the couch with a groan, listing to one side and dizzy.

“Hey, hey. Jensen, take it easy, sweetheart,” came his Alpha’s voice, and as Sam knelt down next to him, his strong, comforting scent surrounded Jensen, coaxing him into breathing easier, deeper, and soon he was able to sit up straight. Sam helped him adjust himself, frowning at the way Jensen was dragging his arm. “Jen, have you been taking your vitamins?”

He shook his head. “I ran out. Kept forgetting to tell you, ’cause I was messing around with the house so much. That’s why I went with Dean, to get more. Did…did we get them?”

If Sam picked up on the fear in Jensen’s voice, his eyes, he was distracted from it by Dean coming back through the door. He came quietly, but when he saw his brother and Jensen, he grinned and let the door close itself with a bang. Then regretted it when Jensen jumped at the sound.

“What the fuck is that?” Sam asked, eyeing Dean’s load.

“A waffle maker,” the twins said at the same time. Jensen hadn’t even turned to see, chin to his chest and eyes down, ashamed.

Dean dropped his burden in the kitchen, careful with the beer more than anything. He opened one, not really cold, but Jensen had talked him into buying a stout with a cool label, and after a tentative sip, he filled both cheeks to bursting with the soft, thick, foamy, coffee-rich goodness and swallowed slowly.

“Jesus,” he said. A cold bottle would have felt great on his hand, but he could trade that for drinking alcoholic chocolate. And right now he needed a drink bad. Jensen was radiating, filling the room with too-sweet shame and fear, and Dean needed something to stabilise himself, just in case.

 _How does Sam_ do _this all the time?_  This constant up and down with the omega, the ever-present threat of violence from someone he loved. _Wait, is this me or Jensen I’m thinking about?_

He drank more, emptying the bottle. Sam was trying to keep Jensen on the couch, but the kid seemed determined to stand. He wobbled, hunched, his left arm curled up against his chest, but he made it to his feet and shuffled towards the bathroom.

“I got it, Sam,” Dean sighed. “Probably thinks it’s worse than it is.” He snagged up one of the bags and another beer and followed the retreating omega.

“Jens?” Dean knocked lightly on the door. It opened a crack, and when he didn’t hear a protest, he slipped inside. It still smelled like his come in Sam’s mouth in the room, and Jensen was leaning against the counter, shaking. His eyes were closed, but he lifted his face slightly when Dean shut the door. Dean heard a whisper of something pass through Jensen’s white lips, guessed at it.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. C’mere, kid.” Dean let the bag and beer down on the counter and pulled Jensen against him in a hug. “You’re fine, I’m fine. Don’t be all freaked out.” Keeping one arm around Jensen’s ribs, Dean fumbled for the bag. “Look, I even got what you needed,” he said, pulling out a large bottle of prenatal vitamins. Jensen cracked one eye open and then whimpered.

“No, see, it’s cool. Here, I thought about it already. We’ll just—” He made quick work of the new bottle’s seal, and Jensen pointed, pressed up against Dean’s side when he needed both hands, to where the empty bottle of calcium and magnesium was. Dean emptied the new bottle into the old, peeled off the sticky label from the prenatals and tossed it in the trash, wadded up, and stowed the empty nondescript brown bottle under the sink like it had always been there. Sam wouldn’t notice if it had been or not. Dean had learned long ago Sam only really paid attention to _his_ stuff. There were other vitamins in the bag, but Dean left them there for Jensen to put away like he normally would.

“See,” Dean said, pleased with himself, “we’re good. Ninjas, remember? The rest is up to you. Just take your pills and stay calm and let me and Sam take care of you. Everything’ll be okay. Okay?”

Jensen nodded, squinting at Dean.

“C’mon, you little cannibal—”

Jensen squawked and shut his eyes again. Dean laughed and tugged on him, pulling at his collar.

“What are you even doing in here? You need to piss? No? Wanna take a shower? You just hiding? Yeah? Well, fuck that. Sam’s gonna feed us and I’m gonna get drunk and you’re gonna hang out with me and watch TV, and everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” Jensen barely said, but his eyes were open and spitting green sparks. He grabbed onto Dean’s shirt sleeve, still limping slightly, and followed Dean out of the bathroom.

For once, the night went as Dean said it would. Four bottles of beer downed and, high and kind of spinny, Dean found himself glaring at both Sam and Jensen by turns, finally threatening to get out the airplane spoon if they didn’t put food in their stupid faces. They both obliged him eventually. Sam’s grilling skills had definitely improved somewhere along the way, and satisfied, Dean drank two more beers and smiled, a little drunkenly, sure, at Sam. Sam had smiled back, and everything was okay, just like Dean had said it would be.

And it lasted. Time enough that Dean found himself…content.

Jensen shook off his funk and was really a funny thing when he wanted to be, and Dean got to see a whole other side of Sam as a consequence. Dean had made a career of sculpting the many Fuck-you Faces of Sam Winchester, as he liked to think of them, with his awful jokes and ridiculous dares and terrible puns. It was his brotherly duty to be awesome at annoying Sam. Jensen, on the other hand, managed to get his uptight little brother to laugh with him. Dean didn’t pay much attention to _how_ Jensen was doing it, he just enjoyed that it was happening. That Sam was laughing so hard his voice got high pitched, that he had to bend over sometimes and giggle towards his boots while Jensen stood there, innocent-faced until he saw Dean watching them and he’d throw a conspiratorial wink at him.

The peace lasted long enough for Dean to help Sam fix up the house. They replaced some floorboards and got the ceiling fan in the living room going again, and there was something about Dean with nails in his mouth and sawdust in his hair that had Sam staring at him, plucking the nails from his lips to kiss him, and sometimes it felt like a loserless race to get hands on Sam when he was concentrating on blue and red wires, but Dean and Jensen took turns coming in first that day.

Sam and Dean found Jensen’s—well, Rhonda’s—‘stash’ of razor blades hidden under one of the loose floorboards they were replacing. Neither said anything, to each other or to Jensen. Sam just took the old make-up bag full of straight razors and exacto blades out to the barrel he burned trash in and tossed the whole thing inside. Jensen probably wouldn’t even know they were gone. The two packs of unopened cigarettes went into the barrel, as well.

Dean even found some peace inside himself, though he wasn’t quite comfortable with it. Didn’t know what to do with it. Seeing Sam and Jensen nestled together on the couch, or sharing space anywhere really, filled Dean with…something. He wasn’t sure what, but it was nice, and warm, and comfortable. If he wanted to be part of that space, he didn’t know how to do it, but Jensen would see him—like somehow actually _see_ _him_ , and Dean wasn’t sure why there was that distinction, but there was—and would put a hand out, offering to share. Sometimes he would join them, a giddy flip to his guts as he did, a blush he could feel but neither his brother nor the omega ever called any attention to. Sometimes Dean would shake his head, content to watch.

He liked the way Sam was with Jensen. The way Sam touched Jensen, reached out and brushed his ribs through his shirt, put his hand on the small of Jensen’s back. Hell, even the way Sam palmed his face sometimes when Jensen got nippy and shuddery. It happened a few times, even though Dean never saw anything _happen._ Jensen would just get this faraway look in his starscaped eyes and his fingers would curl into loose claws, long-nailed and why the hell didn’t Sam just insist Jensen trim those fucking things anyway? Maybe he liked them leaving bloody trails on his back… Either way, a sharp command from Sam, or checked slap to the face and Jensen would clear up like fog in the afternoon, relaxed and focused. The first time, it made Dean go tense and nervous, but Sammy took it all in stride and Jensen seemed just fine, so Dean decided to be fine with it, too.

He started thinking at some point how awesome it really would be to see Sam with a baby. To see those big hands holding something so small and delicate, to hear his low voice murmuring a bedtime story. Sam would make a great father, Dean was sure of it. He, himself, could be a pretty rad uncle, of course, but there was that flip in his stomach again when he remembered what Jensen had said, strung on a cable and a little crazed.

_‘Wanna put a baby in me yourself? Or do you wish Sam had put one in you when you were in heat?’_

Either way, to be a father…

There’s that thing, and maybe lots of men have it, Dean decided as well, to be a better father than your own was. And he wondered, starting in on another case of that amazing stout, if Sam and Jensen _would_ let him. Half of that equation was out of the question, of course, and Dean decidedly would _not_  mourn about that, but maybe…maybe he could, with Jensen. Would they want that? Was he father material? Dean picked at the label of his beer and watched Jensen make Sam laugh, and wondered what baby names he’d pick. If he could.

Four whole days.

That’s how long Dean had to think about these things. To putter around and be domestic and ponder what ifs and maybes. To be as happy and relaxed as he was capable of, and then Bobby called. Bobby called and said he’d found his monster ex-old lady and she’d agreed to meet with him, but he wanted them to come, that he might need back up because if Eleanor came out of wherever she was hiding, then Castiel might not be too far behind.

For the first time, Dean also got to see Jensen be strong. As best he could, anyway. Sam gave Jensen tasks: check the angel wards and the demon traps around the house, make sure the iron and silver weapons were where they should be. He packed a bag for Sam and washed Dean’s clothes without being asked, put beer and some food in the cooler in Baby’s back seat, and then he got out of the way as the brothers let muscle memory take care of the rest.

When it was time to go, Dean was at the car before he remembered there was a new step in all this. Sam was coming towards him, looking morose and trailing burnt sugar on the wind, and the front door was still open. His brother got in the car without a word and opened a creaky leather book, peering at it intently. Dean was pretty sure he wasn’t actually reading it. He looked back at Sam, feeling guilty and nervous, but Sam never looked up.

Jensen was in the bedroom, sitting cross-legged in the big chair.

“I thought you were going?” Jensen said. He didn’t get up, which somehow surprised Dean. Maybe he couldn’t.

“We are. I, um. We’ll be back soon. A day, two. Overnight. Maybe one more.”

Jensen smiled. “I know. Be careful.”

Dean had to laugh.

“What?”

“Just weird. Bobby’s the only one that ever says that to us, and he usually sounds like he knows we won’t be and he’s gonna have to kick our asses later. You just sound…”

“Like I mean it? I do. Please, be careful.”

“We will, kid. Promise,” Dean said, shuffling forward awkwardly. He put his hand out, not really knowing what to do with it, but Jensen caught it and pulled him closer. And down; Dean had to go to one knee as Jensen leaned back and pressed Dean’s hand to his belly. Something bubbled under his palm.

“Holy shit, Jensen. Is—that’s—that is—”

“Yeah. He’s pissed you're leaving.”

“We’ll be right back,” Dean said automatically to the back of his own hand. Jensen smiled.

It was that smile and the brief kiss Jensen put to the side of his mouth and those four days of peace that Dean was thinking of hours later in the darkness between oncoming headlights when Sam reached over and grabbed his crotch. Dean jumped, but Sam just told him to shut up and lean back, and then his jeans were jerked open and the one thing that no one else had ever done, and probably _the first_  blow job fantasy he’d ever had, was finally happening.

Sam had him hard in record time. Had his balls aching shortly after that, and had Dean all the way to the back of his throat moments later, and he was wriggling in his seat, half lying on his side and shoving his hair out of his face without taking Dean’s cock out of his mouth, breathing raggedly as he tried to deep throat Dean with so little room between his face and the steering wheel Dean was _almost_ worried.

He was aware of it distantly; his foot going steadily down on the accelerator, but he couldn’t help it. And besides, it felt _right_. Sam was trying so hard, the pressure on Dean’s cock never let up and his foot kept going down, and then he put his hand on the back of Sam’s head, tangling in his hair and then gripping it, changing the angle and there it was. Dean moaned and the engine roared as he was swallowed finally, slipping into Sam’s throat like he was made to be there, and the car had to know where it was going because Dean sure as fuck didn’t.

“Oh, that’s it, baby boy, knew you could. Fuck, you wanna kill us, dontcha?”

He wanted to thrust but he couldn’t. There was nowhere to go and besides, whatever Sam was doing felt awesome. Humming, swallowing, letting his teeth just graze the base of his cock so his lips could soothe the same spot, a rotation that had Dean cursing in seconds. He wrapped his fingers around Sam’s neck, feeling the tautness, the way his dick was making Sam’s throat bulge, and he squeezed. Sam jerked his head back and coughed, turning to glare up at Dean, but Dean caught him, kept him from pulling away completely. Sam’s cheek was stretched out, Dean’s cock caught in the soft wet velvet there, and he winked down at his brother.

“Sorry, baby. Had to.”

He cut Sam’s next glare off by fisting his hair again and shoving him back down. They’d missed their exit, but Dean’d drive the Impala into the damn Atlantic if he had to to come in Sam’s mouth. He must have been forgiven because Sam went back to humming and drooling, bobbing his head in increments, and Dean’s jeans were getting soaked as Sam seemed determined to master deep throating and the Impala’s speedometer was six feet deep.

Dean felt his orgasm building, a brick wall hurtling towards them, and he gripped the wheel with his left hand at twelve o’clock, aiming with his fist down the black road with a solid white line streaking along beside him, knowing he wasn’t going to be looking out the windshield when it happened. The wall was coming at speed towards them and he tried to warn Sam but, asshole older brother that he was, he shoved down on Sam’s head one last time, holding it there as he hit. His eyes almost shut, but Sam’s ass hiking up, his back arching, the fucking lusty complaint he made open-mouthed around Dean’s cock got Dean’s attention and all of a sudden, coming harder than he had in who knows how long, Dean wanted to fuck his little brother.

Sam shifted again, ass bouncing in the air as he swallowed, sealing his lips and fucking _sucking_ down Dean’s come like it was a too-thick milkshake, and Dean had to rip his eyes away and back to the road and steer them around a horseshoe curve and jesus fuck his dick felt a mile long when Sam finally won free of Dean’s hand and sat up. He wiped his mouth dry and maybe he tried to glare, but he ended up grinning like he’d just won every prize at the fair. He leaned back, slouching down in the seat and glanced around.

“Where—you’re doing like ninety-five, Dean.”

“Uh, I _know_. I’m slowing down. Christ, Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuckin’ _yeah_.”

Sam laughed, the sound somewhat hoarse. Dean’s lap was damp and his dick was smearing the dregs of his balls on his shirt, and his fingers smelled fucking tropical from Sam’s hair. He was over there still smirking triumphantly at Dean, and _that ass_ sticking up when he’d come, like Sam had wanted it filled up, split open, taking Dean’s load back there instead of in his throat, and yeah, he’d teased Sam about fucking him when he was a teenager, but Sam _now?_ He didn’t seem the type. Was, well…Alpha with his bad self, wasn’t he? But then…

Dean thought of Jared. And. And of Cas—no, _Jimmy_. Poor, fucking depressed, suicidal Jimmy, whom Jared had fucked and been fucked by for years until he killed himself. Jared had been in his twenties, a mature Alpha, and had still been letting his step-brother fuck him, bending over to take the Beta’s thick cock, and _jesus, Dean, concentrate. You’re still going in the wrong direction._

He swept them down an offramp and around a cloverleaf, heading back east towards the halfway point to Bobby, and his damn mouth started running before his dazed brain realised what was going on.

“Hey. Sam. Have you ever, you know…bottomed?”

Sam laughed, eyes shining yellow-green-yellow as they left the highway and passed under city street lamps. “What, no. Jensen's head would probably explode if I asked him to.”

“Oh.”

Silence. At least Dean’s brain was silent. His mouth had important business to attend to.

“But, would you—” he started.

“I would for you,” Sam said.

“What, really?” Dean said, astonished. Sam was the picture of sinister glee, side-eyeing Dean with a slow-curl grin as he roughed fingers through his hair, tucked some behind one ear. He saw Dean looking and smiled just wide enough Dean saw canine and glanced away, confused that the deja vu he was feeling wasn’t about Sam or anyone who looked like Sam. What was it..?

“There’s a motel,” Sam said, pointing.

“Yeah. We could make it to Bobby by sunup.”

“He said Eleanor’s gonna meet him at four tomorrow. That’s plenty of time to get there. Let’s just stop.”

Dean let Sam check them in while he waited in the Impala and tried to figure out why he was so weirdly nervous, but when the answer wouldn’t show itself, he got out and started rifling through the trunk, taking stock. Could use more salt, had enough holy water. He put two bowie knives in his bag that needed to be sharpened, inspected the wards on the trunk for scratches or wear, and had their duffels in hand and a plastic bag of trash he’d scraped out of Baby to dump in the motel’s trash when Sam finally waved him towards a door. Corner room, bottom level, king-sized bed on a low frame. Sam just shrugged when Dean raised an eyebrow. He was still smiling wickedly, following Dean’s movements around the room with half-closed eyes until there was less weird and more nervous, and Dean turned his back on Sam, leaning against the desk while he set up Sam’s laptop to charge and connect to the wi-fi.

He was peering at the password card when he felt Sam behind him and his hand touched Dean’s cheek as clove-scented wind tickled Dean’s senses. He turned into the touch, the smell, knowing the source was Sam’s pulse-point in his wrist.

“You really wanna fuck me, Dean?” The words were kissed into the back of his neck, and Sam was pushing, moving in until his whole body was against Dean’s and he had to put his hands down on the desk to keep from falling over it.

“I love your hands,” Sam said, chin on Dean’s shoulder. “I remember you holding me, you know that? I was so little I could only grab onto a couple of your fingers, but you could pick me up and carry me and I thought you were so strong. Even when I got too big to be carried around, you did it anyway. I’d be on your hip, arms around your neck. You’d have your hand under my ass, remember?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed, and he shuddered when Sam’s tongue wriggled against his spine.

“Your other hand holding a gun or a knife, or Dad’s hand. Running. You never dropped me.”

“Never.”

“Remember how I’d put my hand to yours to see if I was gonna grow up and be as big as you?”

He put his hands over Dean’s, covering them completely. “You wanna fuck me? Fuck the boy you raised? I’ll let you, if you _really_ want it. If you’re _sure_. It’s almost normal that I want you. You were my whole world. But you wanna fuck your baby brother, Dean. Are you _sure_?”

Dean wasn’t sure. He wasn’t anything right now but a roiling mess of shame and lust and memories, and Sam was rock hard against his ass and still pushing, grinding against him. Suddenly, there were teeth on the back of his neck, and he bowed down despite himself, letting his head drop, giving Sam more of himself to bite.

“What makes you think I’d _let_ you fuck me?” Sam nipped into his skin. “You fought me, now you’re all, ‘Oh, sorry, Sam, I was wrong. And I totally want to put my dick in you, by the way.’ Who’s trying to turn who into a bitch now, huh? I’d probably never hear the end of it.”

“Not… Not like that, Sammy. God.”

“No? So you wanna make love to me, is that it? Be all tender? Show me how much you love me? Can’t tell me, so you wanna show me?” Sam mocked, and Dean’s face burned, lit like he was close to a gasolined grave. “Fuck that, Dean. I don’t need either one from you. I _have_ you. You’re _mine_. You get it?”

No answer, no sound other than Dean’s uneven breathing.

To Sam, Dean smelled like a forest fire in the distance. Like that time they’d had to cross the Rockies and Yellowstone had been burning on the eastern side. Still in the foothills, Sam had caught a whiff of the inferno. The high mountain air had been so pure, like breathing ice, and was mixed with the fragrance of pines and the volcanic grit turning to dust under the Impala’s wheels. He could smell his older brother, his french fry fingers and his caramel sundae breath, and then the smoke had started invading the car.

Their dad told them that a thousand miles were burning and Sam couldn’t even _imagine_ that. It had excited and scared him, but Dean wasn’t scared, so Sam decided not to be either, even when they’d gotten close enough to see the glow of the fire in the night sky. Dad made them roll up their windows though it was very hot that summer, and Sam still had the mountain air in his nose and Dean, too, and now this smoke from so many trees burning, burning so hot they _exploded_ , Dean said.

And that’s what Dean smelled like now, and it was almost choking Sam, stinging his sinuses, and it was _thrilling_. Dean was on the cusp of burning up in Sam’s arms, tinder-dry with need and caramel sweet with confusion, and he was bent under Sam’s weight, holding them both up on unsteady arms.

“I’m gonna fuck _you_ , big brother. You are _mine_ , and if you’re very, very good, Dean, _maybe_ I’ll let you have me someday.”

Dean hadn’t meant to complain but Sam startled it out of him when his hands suddenly moved off the backs of his own and went to his neck. He heard the noise escape and shame his ears, a petulant whine cut short when Sam grabbed his throat. He was spun around, Sam’s face in a dim strobe as all he could do was blink rapidly, automatically, when Sam wrapped his other hand behind his neck, collaring him tightly. Of course he knew where to squeeze and Dean’s blood pounded through his face as his toes went numb, but he managed a weak grip on Sam’s wrists. He couldn’t tug on them though, could only try not to trip as Sam backed him up towards the bed, and then Sam’s thumbs dug in and he couldn’t hold on at all. He didn’t feel himself fall, just blinked once, twice, inhaled sharply, and he was on his back on the bed. Sam was systematically stripping him. Boots, socks, jeans, gone. When he tried to help, to move to let Sam get the shirt off of him, Sam smacked him. Opened-handed across his cheek.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking move. And don’t get hard, either. I want you just like this.”

That wasn’t going to be terribly difficult after coming like he had in the car, but Sam had an effect on him, so Dean tried not to move, to let his body go pliant as he concentrated on the boring popcorn ceiling, and then the awful pink and green checkered comforter when Sam rolled him over face down onto it.

“Good boy,” Sam said, tongue and teeth on Dean’s shoulder, then hands were on his hips and he was jerked down until he was only half on the bed, his knees on the nubbed carpet. A shove to his back and Dean knew to stay where he was. He knew what Sam was doing behind him, digging through his bag, and he took a deep breath, then another, calming himself, knowing what was coming.

He didn’t expect preparation, and he didn’t get it. Seemed to be a thing with Sam. He knew it wasn’t just because Sam was used to Jensen and the ease with which the omega could take a dick. Sam was doing this on purpose, and Dean kinda liked it. Two cold, wet fingers prodded into him, slipped inside and spread apart, forcing him open.

“Fuck.”

A sticky slap to the side of his face made him shut his eyes tightly and a humiliating whimper escaped him. He wanted to complain about almost getting lube in his eye but thought better of it. He’d end up with those fingers in his mouth if he wasn’t careful. Sam’s fingers, some of them wet, dug into the inside of his thighs, grabbing handfuls of muscle for no reason Dean could figure other than to leave bruises, and he bit both lips to stay quiet. His legs were pushed apart.

“Wanna fuck you, Dean. And you’re going to let me. Let your fucked up little brother inside you. And you want it, don’t you? Shh, huh uh, just hold still.”

Sam started out kneeling behind him, but by the time he was pressed as hard as he could be against Dean’s ass, as deep inside him as he could be—at least, Dean was sure he _had_ to be—Sam was up on his toes, all of his weight on Dean, which was the only thing that kept Dean from arching off the bed in agony. It would pass, he knew it would, but there was a long minute of ice-cream-headache-all-over pain that started when Sam took about two seconds to shove the entire length of his cock into him, thankfully well-slicked with lube at least, and it lasted through the first five thrusts Sam made into him.

Dean didn’t know he’d brought his hand to his face, pushing his fist against his lips to keep quiet, until Sam tore it away.

“Let me hear how good it feels to get fucked by your brother.”

If there were words, they’re obscene. Pleasure-clipped cries made of crushed breath and forced out by Sam slamming into him, and then Sam changed his angle, clamped down on Dean’s hips, pinned him completely, chest pushing onto Dean’s back, making it impossible to breathe. It hurt. Felt like Sam could break his tailbone, bend him in half backwards. Dean almost panicked, almost struggled.

Sam moaned, toes scrabbling for purchase, to push harder, as Dean tensed but Dean only reached back and grabbed the edge of the bed. Held himself in place. He could feel Sam’s heart thumping against his spine, and he suddenly didn’t care if Sam hurt him. If that’s what he wanted to do, Dean would let him.

“God, fuck, yes. So good, Dean. Let me in. Fucking take it. So good for me.”

It was blinding how good it felt hearing Sam praise him. Literally, he couldn’t see past his blinking lids, his burning eyes blurring everything, Sam’s arms now framing his face and blocking the world out. Sam was his world and this was the only thing that mattered to him.

Sam’s lips were against his cheek, the same one that still stung from the hard slap, and he was whispering, his voice lurid and mean in Dean’s ear. “I’m not your Alpha, Dean. I’m your baby brother and you did this to me, kept me so close to you that I never knew anything else. You taught me about sex, about fucking, how did you not think that boy would make it about you, huh? Never thought of that, did you? How much you were messing me up, making me fixate on you.”

A hand between his legs, his soft cock leaking in Sam’s palm, the truth keeping it that way. He knew, had known, that he wasn’t completely normal and that he was probably ruining Sam somehow.

“Oh, wet little bitch, though, aren’t you? Making slick like a good omega. I can taste it, feel it in my mouth just like Jensen’s. You’re never gonna be the same, are you?”

Maybe not. Maybe what was left over in him was permanent. Maybe it was being around Jensen, stimulating something inside him. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Sam mattered, and with the way he was fondling him and hissing lust into his ear, Dean couldn’t care if he was fucked up for life if it was what Sam liked and wanted.

“So good for me, Dean. Maybe I’ll let you fuck me after all, as a reward. You never fucking listen to me, but you’ll do it to fuck me, huh?”

“I do, Sam, do listen—”

Sam laughed in his ear, low and pleased like he’d just gotten something else from Dean he’d wanted. “How do you want to do it? Face to face so you can see if I like it when you put your dick in me? Or from behind, so you can pretend it’s not me, that we’re not fucked up?”

“No. No, Sam, no. See you.”

“Wanna watch, huh? Make sure I like it, that you’re doing good? I will like it, Dean. You coulda fucked me years ago. Wanted you to, I think. No other reason I was so jealous of those boys you fucked. Yeah,” Sam growled as Dean twitched underneath him, “I knew. Never gonna let anyone else fuck you, are you? Just me. Jen if he wants to. You’ll let him,” Sam commanded, grinding down hard.

“Y-yeah. Yes. Sam.”

“Wish he was here now. Feed his cock to you. Have you trapped between us. Keep you soft ’til we’ve both fucked you everywhere. Make him come inside you. Swear it’s like a cup of come, isn’t it? So much, running out of you, and I’d fuck it back in.” Sam was almost motionless inside him except when he punctuated his words with hard jerks of his hips, his cock punching towards Dean’s navel, but when Dean’s answer was a mindless moan and he smeared his wet mouth against Sam’s forearm, Sam began to move.

His brother’s solid weight was crushing him down into the mattress and Dean was only breathing when Sam pulled out before slamming back down, a split second of room that his lungs used to suck in air frantically. His ears rang with the pressure in his head, and his face was burning hot, and it felt like this could kill him if it lasted much longer, but he never wanted it to end.

“Gonna come,” he heard, and needed it. Wanted to beg Sam for it, but all he could manage was a small shift of his hips; opening his legs, offering himself. He felt the stutter and pause of Sam’s body over his, and the breath Sam dragged in seemed to go straight to his cock and swell it impossibly, forcing a groan from Dean.

He needed to breathe, and his knees were screaming from the hard floor under the threadbare carpet and holding up both their bodies, but before he had to ask Sam to move, the weight was gone, and damn his body for not being able to tolerate it longer. He could only lie there and gasp, heart pounding, trying to focus.

Sam was what he saw first, on his back looking at him, hazel eyes tending towards an almost translucent amber from the effort and pleasure, and for a moment he remembered a similar look on his brother’s face. In an alley where a curly-haired vampire had jumped Dean and greased his mouth with poisoned blood, and Sam had been standing in the shadows, soulless and intrigued, watching Dean become a monster. Dean slid down, back and away from Sam, onto his knees, putting his face to the bed between his outstretched arms. There was a hot, wet squish of come and lube against his calves, but it didn’t matter.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam,” he said into the blanket.

“Did I break you?” Sam asked, not quite teasing.

 _No. Yes. Maybe, I don’t know. Other way around, isn’t it?_ He made a noise.

“Dean. Hey.”

Sam was tugging on his hand. He lifted his head and pushed with his other arm rather than let Sam drag him like a limp doll onto the bed. And he was _not_ going to cry.

“Jesus, man. I didn’t mean to fuck you up. Are you okay?”

“Peachy. Sorry I fucked _you_ up.”

“Dude, you’re making a mess. Hold still.”

“I got it.”

“No, just stay put.”

Dean buried his face in his arms while Sam wiped at his legs and ass with a wet cloth, and rolled out of the way when Sam jerked the horrid comforter out from under him and to the floor.

“Too hot with both of us, anyway,” Sam said, crawling over Dean, his smile animated, gleaming like his eyes, and Dean felt better knowing there was a soul in there. A scarred, tortured soul in all likelihood, but some of that had to be Dean’s fault.

“Do you really feel that way?”

“What way?”

“What you said, all that. About me fucking you up somehow.”

Sam shrugged. “Well, yeah. But it’s my life. I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Dean, we’ve gone over this. How much reassurance do you need, man? I mean, I don’t mind, I guess? But I don’t want you to be all tore up about shit I say during sex. I won’t do it anymore if it bothers you so much.”

The thought of Sam not doing something he enjoyed because Dean was getting his fucking feelings hurt made his gut twist. “No. I…don’t stop. I just… I dunno. Never mind.”

“I love you.”

“Oh, jesus christ,” Dean groaned.

“Well, does it help? That I do, that I say it? ’Cause I do. I love you, love being your brother. Fuck, Dean, I’ve loved you my whole life, even when I was pissed at you, even through all the pranks and books in the toilet and farted on pillows, okay? You fucked me up some, but I don’t think we had a chance to be normal. That went with Mom. I haven’t known anything else but this life. Four years away just concreted the fact that I’m a freak.”

“Got that right.” But there was a smile in the words, hidden still behind the sad pull of Dean’s lips and the way he’d only meet Sam’s eyes for fleeting heartbeats. Sam sat up, straddling Dean, smirking when Dean grunted dramatically at his weight. He rolled his hips slightly, his shrinking, drooling cock leaving snail-trails on Dean’s belly.

“Want me to make this up to you? You still can, you know.”

Dean blinked incredulously. “Seriously? No.”

Sam pouted and poked Dean’s ribs.

“Don’t! Bitch.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t want to now? Look, I’m sorry I said all that, okay?”

“No, you’re not. True, anyway.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, it is. C’mon, Dean. Really?”

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face, then thumped his knuckles into Sam’s thigh. “Get _off_. Fuckin’ not doing it like that, for one thing.”

Sam grinned and let himself fall to the side, bouncing Dean on the bed with his weight. “Hungry?”

“Tacos or get the fuck out of my face.”

Sam left and came back with a heavy bag and a worried look on his face. “Bobby called. Said he can’t get ahold of Eleanor. Thinks they might have her.”

Dean sighed and muted the TV. “‘They’,” he muttered. “Well, now what?”

“I asked him if he wanted us to come early, but he said might as well hope for the best and that she’ll be there tomorrow when she said she would.”

“In an alley behind a church. Is she gonna sell us some pot, too?”

Sam rolled his eyes and tossed the bag at Dean.

“Hey, watch the tacos, man.”

They ate and Sam worried pointlessly about what was going to happen tomorrow, but he didn’t press Dean when he didn’t contribute. There was only a slim chance they weren’t going to run into Cas, and no matter what Dean said or acted like, Sam knew he was still hurt.

Dean ate his tacos and two of Sam’s and sent him to the car for beer. He drank two to Sam’s one and kept his smirk to himself when the thick brew had Sam nodding off, bottle in hand. He plucked it from Sam’s fingers and finished it, and Sam just tucked his chin to his chest like a giant fucking bird and frowned once when Dean tugged the covers over his feet, then his face smoothed out and his shoulders relaxed. Dean opened another beer and stared at him.

He didn’t think about it very often. He had to force himself to take a step back and look at Sam and see someone other than the bitchy kid he’d spent most of his life living with. Loving. These past few months were the huge exception, but he was just buzzed enough to forget all that for a second. Looking at Sam now, all six and a half almost feet of him, it was fucking amazing to Dean that this was the same brother he’d always had. Mind-blowing really, that that kid was in there somewhere. Sam had been so _little_. For freaking ever, he’d been this wisp with shaggy hair and a pursed mouth and glaring hazel eyes, pissed off at Dad, pissed off at Dean, pissed about everything. At least it seemed that way if you didn’t know better.

Dean knew. Knew what made Sam happy and sad, when he was really pissed and not just hiding behind a front. Knew how smart he was and what his favourite colour was and that he liked lilacs and golden retrievers and didn’t like basketball but loved hockey and had wanted to be an astronomer when he was eight. He knew a lot about Sam.

But not everything. Once, Sam had screamed that at him, and that had hurt more than Sam beating the shit out of him, high on demon blood, minutes before.

_You don’t know me. You never did. And you never will._

That had hurt so much, and Dean had been so afraid Sam was right. That everything he thought he knew about his baby brother was useless. Not lies, just not the right things, not what was important.

Dean wondered if this was one of those things that Sam had meant he didn’t know. What was happening between them now.

He got out of bed and pissed, brushed his teeth, flicked the lights off. He was still mostly naked, in briefs and a tee shirt, but Sam was fully dressed except for his shoes. Dean didn’t want to wake him. He slipped under the covers and scooted close to Sam. Holding still, he waited for his ears to adjust. His eyes beat them to it, making out Sam’s profile, but after a few minutes, he could hear Sam breathing. It was an exercise he was very familiar with. If he could hear Sam breathing evenly, that meant Sam was deeply asleep and wouldn’t hear Dean.

It was kind of exciting to jerk off again with Sam so close. He’d done it, god, who even knows. So many times. Sharing a bed or no, not much could stop Dean when he wanted to get his nut off. Except Sam waking up in the middle of it. It hadn’t happened very often once Sam was ten or so. He pretty much always seemed to sleep right through the slight bouncing of the bed and the papery sound of Dean’s dry hand on his own immature cock. Now Dean wondered, though. _Had_ he been sleeping? Or had Sam lain there awake and knowing what Dean was doing? Had he been waiting for Dean to touch him? Had he wanted him to, _really_? Dean closed his eyes and changed his grip, imagining it was Sam’s hand. Just two fingers and his thumb, stroking slow, tentative, because Sam’s hands had been small for a very long time. Would it have been that easy? If he’d reached out and taken Sam’s soft, warm little hand in his and guided it to his dick, would Sam have freaked out and told on him? Or would he have crawled under the covers and sucked him off?

Dean was slick now, leaking like he hadn’t even when he was a teenager. He pretended it was Sam’s mouth, sucker sweet, his own callouses the inexperienced drag of Sam’s teeth. Holy shit, _what if_? What would the world even be like now? How much bullshit could they have avoided? How much loneliness? They’d shared so much, imagine what it could have been like with _this_ between them, keeping them closer, which was admittedly, kind of unhealthy even back then. _Then_ what would Dean know about Sam? Everything. He would know everything about him. The taste of his sweat, the feel of his tongue and lips and hands, then still scarless and smooth and his alone. He could have measured him, felt him grow in his hands, his arms, his mouth, under him, in him.

“Dean. Stop.”

He did. Immediately. His hand flattened on his belly, sticky. The other tucked itself under his butt slightly, carefully not touching Sam. That was habit, too. It’s not like he’d _never_ been caught, and the best thing for everyone involved had been to just pretend nothing had been going on in the first place. 

“Sorry, Sammy,” he rasped, guilty.

Sam laughed at him, sleep-soft and tolerant. “No, just save it for me. I want you to.”

Dean frowned, his heart still racing. He’d been so close. “Want me to..?”

“Fuck me. Later, when we’re done with this. Will you?”

Sam was looking down at him, his eyes half-closed and his own hands resting near the bulge in his jeans.

“Yeah, Sam. Okay.” He felt dizzy saying it.

Sam smiled. Dean heard the tiny wet sound of it, and then his brother got out of bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door before he turned on the light. Dean rolled onto his stomach. It made it easier not to touch. In a few minutes, Sam reemerged and shrugged out of his clothes, stripping down naked. He climbed back into bed and, his eyes not quite adjusted to the darkness, walked his fingers along the bed and Dean’s shoulder until he found Dean’s cheek.

“I love you so much, Dean. I do. God, you make me crazy with it.” He said those things as he stroked Dean’s cheek, his arm when Dean smooshed his face into it, hiding. Caressed his back and down his spine and up, pushing gently, massaging until Dean relaxed, his pulse returning to normal. When he finally fell asleep it was with Sam’s hand on his ribs, and they woke up the same way.

Dean forgot all about what Sam said he wanted at first. They were packing the car up and debating breakfast when Sam suddenly stretched, groaning, and Dean decided the curve of Sam’s lower back was a fucking miracle. His mouth watered with the need to lick along that incredible line, his dick got uncomfortably hard in his pants, and he remembered.

_‘Save it for me.’ Man, there’s no way this day is going to go by fast enough._

He was nervous about it if he was honest with himself. Would Sam like it? How slow should he go? Somehow he doubted that Sam could even give up being in control long enough. Dean wasn’t going to last long, either. Not with being cut off last night and thinking about it constantly today—and then he realised what Sam was doing. Keeping him distracted. He was almost mad about it, but there was no time for it. He was next to Sam and following Bobby through an alley, tracking a ringtone.

Eleanor was in the alley like she’d said she would be, but she was dying. Gutted and bleeding out, and Cas had done it. Had bled her dry for a spell.

“They have enough to crack Purgatory wide open,” Eleanor gasped. “I’m sorry, Bobby, I’m really sorr—”

She died in Bobby’s arms, and Castiel was there the whole time. He could have saved her. But she was more important dead. She’d go back to Purgatory and be one of the millions of souls that would help Castiel fight Raphael and restore Heaven. _That_ was what was important, not her human life, not the grief of the old hunter who tenderly closed her eyes. Not even his devotion to the Winchester brothers. This battle had to be fought, and Sam and Dean were in his way. They couldn’t be reasoned with, so he had no choice.

He didn’t threaten Dean. He made a promise. “When this is all over, I will save Sam, but only if you stand down.”

Castiel touched Sam, and he found it amazing in retrospect that Sam didn’t flinch from him. Not that he could have gotten away, no, there was too much at stake to allow that, but Sam just looked at him with that same trust he’d always had, since their very first meeting.

Fingertips first, to Sam’s right temple, and his eyes flew wide, flared with something Dean couldn’t see, but Cas did. Fire. A backdraft inside them as he brought Sam’s protective wall down, let his terrorised soul bleed its bloody memories all through Sam’s brain, and it roared through Sam until there was nothing left in him but that inferno. It lit up his open mouth, a coal in this throat. Flicked from his tongue, dripped from his fingertips as they splayed wide at his sides.

The angel almost regretted what he’d done as the last coherent thing Sam did was frown at him. A child-like look of hurt and confusion passed over his face for barely a second, making Castiel wish he could take it back. He loved this man. Had _grown_ to love him, and that was something special to Castiel. He had no choice with Dean. Whether they were intended to love, or if Castiel’s touching of Dean’s live-wire soul had branded them both, it was instinct between them, something profound and wild and undeniable. But Sam had _wanted_ to love Cas, and loving him back was the first new thing Castiel had learned to do in a millennia.

Dean saw Cas cup Sam’s cheek the way a lover would, and then Sam’s knees buckled. Dean had to catch him, had to lose sight of Cas to grab his brother by the arm as he went down. He didn’t even hear Cas disappear, only knew it when he looked up to beg, plead  _No, no, no, Cas. Fix this! What did you do? Cas, why? Why would you do this? Hurt me, dammit! Not Sam, not this. Don’t do this to him._

But Cas was gone and Sam was seizing in his arms. Dean couldn’t see the bonfire sparks coming off of Sam’s heels as they drummed and kicked against the concrete, but Castiel could. He stood next to the brothers and Bobby, invisible but not gone, and he could hear Dean’s thoughts. He raised his chin slightly, standing tall, knowing now he’d done exactly the right thing. There was no other way to warn Dean how serious this was. If this didn’t stop Dean, then killing him was the only other option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [monsterdonughts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterdoughnut). Her amazing avalanche of comments totally inspired me to finish this. One more chapter to go!


	13. Chapter 13

Sam was dead weight and it took all Bobby and Dean had to get him back to the Impala. Dean was crying and he didn’t care, just kept wiping his tears away so he could see where he was going because he’d never dropped Sam and he wasn’t going to start now.

“Meet you at my place,” Bobby said. “I gotta—” He nodded towards the alley and the dead woman in it.

“’Kay, Bobby. Yeah.” Dean didn’t move, just stared down at Sam pooled across the back seat.

Bobby clapped him on the back, hard. Startled him. “Pull it together, son. We’re in bad shape, all of us, and it’s gonna get worse we don’t get a move on.”

Dean nodded, wiped his face again. Bobby sighed and took Dean’s arm and steered him to the front seat. “My house,” he repeated. “Get.”

Dean got. Baby rolled through the streets and back onto the highway the way they’d come, moving like she knew something was wrong, careful of her precious cargo. And she definitely knew where she was going this time, because Dean never took his eyes off the rearview mirror, angled down so he could watch Sam. Sam did nothing, barely even breathed. If he’d started thrashing again, Dean would’ve stopped, freeway be damned, to help him, keep him from hurting himself. But he didn’t. He was still and quiet and senseless and _Castiel will pay for this_. Dean didn’t know how just yet, but he knew the angel would pay. It was obvious what he’d done. Unless he’d given Sam a lobotomy with his mojo, the only other thing going on up there that was gonna skew his brother this bad was bringing down the wall Death had built to keep Sam’s fucked up, Devil-raped, ruined soul from reminiscing with his relatively healthy psyche.

“Fuck you, Cas,” Dean heard himself mutter. “Fuck you, you arrogant, stupid prick.”

There was no way Cas _could_  ‘fix’ Sam. Castiel was a goddamned liar on top of it. _Death himself_  hadn’t been able to fix Sam. He’d just slapped a band-aid on the problem with a clear warning not to go picking at it, and Cas had yanked it free from the festering wound underneath, and he somehow thought he would be able to _fix it_  later? Who did he think he was?

Dean wanted to scream. He wanted to close his eyes and scream until his throat was bloody. He wanted to curl up into a ball and go to sleep and when he woke up Sam’d be there, safe and whole and sane—

“Jensen. Oh, _fuck_.”

Dean owed Castiel a world of hurt for this.

Bobby had told him to go to the junkyard, but Dean knew he wasn’t going to get Sam into the panic room by himself, and Jensen was the only one who could help. Bobby’d be a couple hours behind him and he couldn’t just leave Sam in the car until then. He thought about calling first, but no, that’d only leave Jensen alone and worried until Dean got there. Best just to show up and deal with him face to face.

That face was sleepy and happy and beautiful when Dean touched it just past one in the morning.

“Jensen? Hey, honey, wake up. I need you.”

Jensen smiled and nuzzled into his hand. He opened his eyes. Dean had turned the hallway light on, was silhouetted by it, so it wasn’t his expression that made Jensen gasp sharply and sit up, knocking Dean’s hand away.

“What happened? Where’s Sam?”

“He’s in the car. I need your help with him. We gotta go to Bobby’s.”

“ _Dean_ —”

“Jensen, please, kid, don’t. Don’t freak out, _please_. I’m freaked enough for the both of us and _I need you_. Please. Get dressed and get in the car. Sam’s there, and we both need you right now.”

They stared at each other. Dean was crying again, though he didn’t know he was until he felt the tracks cooling on his skin. Jensen was blinking rapidly, his breathing quick and shallow.

“He’s not dead,” Jensen said.

“No. He’s knocked out and I gotta get him to Bobby’s. Will you help me?”

Jensen nodded and Dean moved back to let him out of bed. What happened after that, Dean had no real idea. Jensen moved around and Dean tracked him with his eyes, not understanding anything, and then he wandered outside. He leaned against the car and watched Sam’s dark shape. This was something he understood. Sam’s utter stillness was something he was horribly familiar with. He could cope with it only because it was something he needed to fix, a challenge, a problem to solve. Castiel couldn’t do it. Not Bobby, though he had the next best chance. Certainly not Jensen, and Dean watched, numb, as Jensen stumbled past him and crawled into the back seat with Sam, pulled his head into his lap.

Dean could watch the road now, though, knowing Jensen’s eyes never left Sam as they drove the few miles to Bobby’s house. They carried Sam carefully down to the panic room, slung between them like a sack, and arranged him on a cot. Then they stood side by side and watched as he slept, or whatever was going on with him. Jensen took Dean’s hand, and they waited for Bobby.

It was good to have him there, even if he had no idea what to do. Dean had his own ideas, but Bobby shot them down with a quickness.

“The dam inside your brother’s head is gone, and all Hell’s spilling loose. We don’t know what’s going on inside.”

“Hell,” Jensen echoed. He was sitting in a chair by Sam’s side and had taken up Dean’s task of crying. Other than that he’d held on better than Dean had expected, but now he rounded on them, his eyes huge and bloodshot and flickering angrily. “ _Hell_? What does that even _mean_?” he cried, furious and scared and Dean couldn’t blame him. And Dean couldn’t tell him. He _couldn’t_ , ’cause then he’d have to think about it himself. Think about what had happened to Sam, and remember his own stint there. He took a step back from the terrified omega, saw the look Bobby gave him, full of pity and exasperation and _how does he even do that combo?_ But Bobby went to Jensen’s side and started talking quietly, and Dean fled. Not far. Just outside the panic room, into the basement. He just couldn’t…

He closed his eyes, trying not to start that scream he’d been thinking about since getting in the car with Sam in the backseat yesterday.

“ _Dean_!”

If a minute, an hour, a thousand and some heartbeats had passed, he didn’t know it, but suddenly Bobby was shouting for him. He bolted back into the room. Jensen and Bobby each had one of Sam’s arms, but his brother’s legs were free and they were kicking while his body twisted violently. He was half off the bed and both men were struggling to keep him on it, but his thrashing legs were winning. Dean caught them, taking a hard booted heel to the stomach in the process and he almost threw up on them all, but he pinned Sam back down on the cot. The seizure went on and on. Sam started frothing, breathing in gasps and bellows, jerking so hard one or the other of them was almost falling and it just kept going. And then it stopped. Like a light going out, Sam just collapsed and sighed and was still again.

“Balls,” Bobby said. He was the first to let go, and he went straight for his whiskey. Dean eased off Sam’s ankles cautiously, sweating, and stooped next to Jensen.

“Hey, kid, you can let go.” But Jensen wouldn’t, kept his death-grip on Sam’s arm, nails biting into Sam’s skin. Dean reached over and pried them loose, and he wasn’t surprised when Jensen simply turned and latched onto him. Dean pushed them both to their feet, Jensen clinging to him.

“Not like this.”

Jensen’s tattered words whispered across Dean’s neck. Dean loosened his grip and stepped back. A small step, not really wanting distance between them, but his eyes hurt; Sam made his eyes, heart, everything hurt and Jensen was the only other thing he could bear to look at. Looking, for the first time, Dean knew Jensen _could_ be his mirror image, acid-etched with fear.

He felt like he was asleep on his feet. Jensen snuffling and swaying in his arms and the lulling noise of the fan venting above their heads was somniferous to the point he seriously considered lying down right where he was, concrete floor and all.

Bobby rescued him. “I’ll sit up with Sam. Got some reading and some drinkin’ to do, and I don’t mind doing it in peace. Get on upstairs. I’ll ring if he stirs again.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

Getting Jensen to move was challenging, and Dean contemplated just picking up him and carrying him, but the stairs would probably kill them both. Jensen resisted his pull, bleary eyes on Sam, and he shook his head when Dean tugged on him. Eventually, after a quick glance told him Bobby was fiddling with something on his desk, back to them, Dean grabbed Jensen from behind, by the hips, and pulled him back sharply against his own body.

“Jensen,” he said, letting the word rumble through his chest, through Jensen, heat the back of Jensen’s neck with it. “I need you to come with me.”

“Need?”

“Yeah.” And suddenly he did. He needed his twin’s body, his heat and heartbeat, his soft skin. His touches and kisses. He needed some kind of proof of life, and he needed it _now_. Jensen had to know, able to pick up on Dean’s sudden arousal, the spike of his blood to his face, his cock, and he turned, pushing himself back into Dean’s embrace, only this time he kept pushing, herding Dean backwards.

“Okay okay, careful, kid. Let’s go get some rest. Bobby—” he called, disentangling himself from Jensen so he could lead the way, Jensen’s wrist in his grip. Bobby waved a hand at them.

“Gotcha covered, boys. Go on.”

Dean led Jensen to the door of the panic room and pushed him through it and then stopped. He knew he had to be hurting Jensen with the way he was clutching his wrist, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself, and Jensen wasn’t complaining. Dean turned, Jensen’s pulse doubling his own under his fingers, and looked back at Bobby. The old hunter had a glass of whiskey in his hand and unshed tears in his eyes and his lips were almost white as they twitched in a smile Dean knew he meant as reassuring. It was the same smile he’d given Sam and him when their dad had ditched them time and again here, for a hunt or on a bender, and Bobby had looked down at them holding on to each other with the same strength.

“Find Cas, Bobby.”

“I’ll do my best, son,” he replied, the hair on the back of his neck rising at the murderous tone of Dean’s voice.

Upstairs and behind closed doors, Dean dropped his hands to his sides and let Jensen do what he wanted to do, what they both needed. He found himself on his back amidst sleeping bags and duffels and clothes, surrounded by the scent of Sam and their old house and happiness, just the barest hint of that last thing, and Jensen was kissing him, kneeling over him. Dean put his hands up, palms flat against Jensen’s chest, and Jensen leaned into him, heavy and solid…and softer in certain places than Dean remembered. He squeezed slightly and Jensen gasped, pained.

“No way.”

“What?” Jensen asked, trying to find Dean’s lips again.

“Are you… Are you getting breasts?”

Jensen sat up. Dean kept his hands on his chest, cupping, feeling the tiniest of curves there. “How else is the baby gonna feed, Dean?”

“I… Yeah. Okay. Are they gonna get big?”

“Kind of. Not like a female omega would. Male’s are designed differently, and hold most of the milk inside our chest. It puts some pressure on the lungs, makes it hard to breathe. But they will swell enough to give the baby something to hold onto.” He smiled nervously at the look in Dean’s eyes. “What?”

“That’s…fucking hot. I don’t know, just the thought of you like that. With little tits. Leaking milk.” Dean grinned suddenly. “Sam’s going to freak out. I’ve seen his porn preference and he’s definitely got a thing for milk tits, probably ’cause he didn’t get his fair share. Mom nursed me til I was three or something, but Sam…” He bit his lip, watching his hands move over Jensen’s chest, not remembering when he’d reached for him. Dean rucked his twin’s shirt up and his hand slid under, up Jensen’s belly and ribs and back to his chest, fingers finding and pinching at Jensen’s nipples. A noise escaped Jensen, and Dean mimicked it unconsciously. Suddenly the omega stripped his shirt over his head, and his hands flew over Dean, exposing his body as if his clothes were going to catch fire any second. Jensen started undoing his own pants but gave up with them merely unbuttoned, and looked shyly up at Dean.

“He left you locked up, didn’t he?”

Jensen nodded. “The key Sam had is still at the house. He said there was a spare key, though. Bobby’s got it.”

“What!”

“He doesn’t know what it’s for, but Sam told me if anything…to ask Bobby for it.”

“Oh, man. Well. Do you want me to?”

Jensen shrugged, eyes downcast again and sweeping about as if he’d dropped something. “I…don’t care? I don’t know. What…uh, what do _you_ want?”

“Ah, crap. Look, Jen. I’m not…fuck it. I’m not like Sam, okay? You’re not mine to keep that way. I don’t think Sam’s in the right place to take care of you though, obviously. Don’t cry, c’mon, Jensen, cut me some slack!” he said, but lightly, palm to Jensen’s jaw, lifting his face back up when he tried to curl in on himself again. “You want me to decide, is that it?”

Jensen nodded, rubbing his cheek into Dean’s hand.

“Okay. Executive decision then: it comes off until Sam says otherwise. You gotta ask Bobby for the key, though. Wait,” said Dean, grabbing on to Jensen’s hips as he made to leave, to get off of Dean. “I didn’t say we were done here.”

“No?” Jensen chirped, the sound sweet and hopeful.

“I know you. Free or not, you don’t care if you get off, do you? Just need to get fucked, huh?”

Roses were blooming on his cheeks, and Dean suddenly understood the merit of Sam’s constant dirty-talk to this creature. Like a perfect virgin-whore, Jensen blushed and lowered his eyes and managed to look so innocent while being wet and more than willing at the same time.

“I probably can’t marathon-fuck you like Sam does,” he grumbled, thumbing over Jensen’s nipples. “Guess there is something to him… More Alpha than I am, huh?”

Jensen’s eyes were flickering green and blue, pinwheeling beautifully as he bit down on a smile.

“You’ll do just fine. I love you.”

Dean blinked. “You do?”

“Of course I do.”

“Oh. Oh. Thank you. I… Didn’t think—I, uh—”

Jensen smiled and kissed him, kept kissing him as Dean tried to talk, tried to get the words out, but Jensen wouldn’t let him. Suddenly frantic it seemed, Jensen had Dean’s face in his hands and his tongue between his teeth and bucked, squeezed Dean with his legs, pulled on him, had Dean grunting and struggling for breath until he finally managed to flip Jensen onto his back.

“Put your arms up, behind your head,” Dean instructed the squirming omega, sitting back on his thighs. Once Jensen had done it, Dean took a moment to really look at the body lined up under him, and he noticed something. They both had almost-red armpit hair, but while Dean had never had much chest hair to begin with, Jensen had none. And what Dean had taken as a clean shave on his face, upon closer inspection with eyes and fingertips and then lips, turned out to be blond, silky hairs, so fine as to be almost invisible.

“It’s the baby,” Jensen said. “Changes things. I won’t ever have to shave again after this. Be hard to nurse with hair around the nipples, you know? Baby gettin’ it all in its nose,’ he giggled breathlessly, self-consciously. “It’s weird, huh? You think I’m weird.”

“Yeah, but not because of this,” Dean replied, smiling down at him. “Sam is right. You’re beautiful. I’m not saying that ’cause you look like me. I don’t think you do. And I don’t think Sam feels like that so much anymore, either. He might have at first—”

“I know.”

“Yeah. You know. I hope you do, Jensen. I hope you know how…how much we both need you. All I ever wanted was for Sam to be happy. To have some kind of life. He’s got it with you.”

“Got you, too.”

“Yeah,” Dean said again and kissed Jensen. He didn’t want to talk, suddenly. Couldn’t talk. He needed to feel. They both did. Needed to break through the numbness. The fear.

Jensen kept his arms up, twined behind his head, but it was hard. He wanted to grab Dean, pull him down on him, wanted the weight of Dean’s body to keep him from floating away. Sleep was beckoning him, tapping its dark, slender fingers on his forehead, and he wanted to brush them away and he was digging his nails into his arm with the effort it was taking not to, but Dean fixed that for him. Pressed his lips to Jensen’s eyes, then to that fluttering place between them. To his cheeks and lips, and Dean spent a long time there, in his mouth, lapping and tangling tongues together until Jensen forgot about drifting off, and besides, it wasn’t that he wanted to. He wanted to be here for Sam when he woke up. Sam needed him. Dean had just told him so.

“Sam,” he said, Dean at his throat, licking along his jaw, mouthing over the scars on his shoulder.

“I know,” Dean whispered in his ear.

“I wanna tell him.”

Dean lifted his head, popping off the mark he was sucking into Jensen’s collarbone. Jensen was weeping quietly, tears coursing from his starry eyes, wetting his ears, and Dean could taste them. Smell them. The tears, the slick, the baby inside him, and blood. Where was the blood?

“When he wakes up. We’ll make sure he’s okay, then you’ll tell him. Want me to be there?”

Jensen nodded and turned his face to wipe tears on his arm and there was the blood, where Jensen was digging his nails into his own arms. Dean pulled his hands down, let Jensen wrap them around him and arched up into his touch.

“Do that to me if you need to. Hey, are you with me? Jensen?”

Dean received a smile for an answer, and the sadness there could only belong to Jensen.

Dean’s back came away bloody, along with his thighs, his biceps, chest, and while he didn’t put Sam to shame, Dean did better than he expected himself to. Jensen was inspiring, he mused later, resting on his side because he didn’t want to peel his bloody self off the sheet later, watching Jensen doze, easy and regular. He’d begged and moaned, had stuttered Dean’s name over and over, and Dean had come gasping, nearly blind, the first time, then Jensen had licked his fingers wet and crooked two of them as far as he could inside Dean and they’d both had Sam’s name on their lips the second time. He’d flipped Jensen onto his stomach after that, and Jensen had sucked at his own fingers while Dean licked him clean.

Still locked up, the inside of Jensen’s cock cage was sticky and wet with slick. He hadn’t gotten hard, but that hadn’t stopped Dean from trying to make him come, from slipping his fingers inside Jensen and working his prostate until Jensen was oozing fluid from his trapped cock. Dean loved cupping it in his hand as it dangled between Jensen’s spread legs. Loved the strangeness of it, the artificial hardness contrasting with the soft feel of Jensen’s balls as he weighed them in his palm together. The position was perfect for sliding his hand further up, over Jensen’s swelling belly. Dean thought he felt, maybe just imagined, heat there. Something more, warmer than the rest of Jensen’s body, and Jensen would _writhe_ at his touch, as if it felt _so good_  for Dean to be touching where Sam’s baby was inside him.

Hours went by.

Dean had to quit, eventually, and Jensen murmured happy praise to him and brought Dean’s hand back to his stomach when they were stretched out side by side, and they talked about Sam. About what kind of father he might be. If he’d roughhouse and read to it and how Dean was sure he’d be the type to carry the baby everywhere, wouldn’t want a stroller. Jensen had said Jared would have been the same that way and Dean tensed and said nothing. Jensen kept talking about Jared, about how his eyes had always lit up around babies, and how any omega who’d ever placed a baby in his big hands had always smiled, commented on how gentle he was, what a good father he’d make, and Dean’s heart raced faster and faster the more Jensen talked and Dean wanted him to stop but he knew Jensen had to do this. He would never not love, never not miss his Alpha, and no one in the world, literally, except for Dean, had known him. There was no one else he could talk to about Jared. And, listening to how Jensen was speaking and not so much about what he was saying, Dean realised Jensen was preparing himself to lose Sam like he’d lost Jared.

“It’ll have their eyes,” Jensen said, closing his own. “Shaped that way. I know it. It’s funny, I can almost see it already.” A frown passed over his face briefly. “Is that normal? I can see it. The baby. See its eyes, and its mouth—like ours, Dean.”

“I dunno, kid.”

“I’m gonna have to stay shut up from now on. Not a lot of pregnant males around.”

“We will both be here. Keep you company.”

Jensen nodded sleepily. “It will look so much like him. I can see it,” he repeated. “Always be able to see him when I look at the baby.”

Bobby woke them up. Dean didn’t remember going to sleep. One minute he was looking at Jensen and carefully _not_ praying, _wishing_ instead,  _hoping_ , _knowing_ , that Sam would be alright, would wake up and be fine and be here to see his kid born and not leave Dean alone with the responsibility, alone with Jensen because while Jensen was okay now, he wasn’t always gonna be and Dean didn’t know if he was capable enough to help Jensen _and_ deal with a baby and, fuck, Sam _had_ to be okay, and the next minute his phone was ringing and he was trying to make his mouth work and Bobby’s voice was roughing up his ear.

“—ain’t got time, Dean. We gotta go take care of this now. Time’s up. That flake Balthazar won’t zap us there, so we gotta drive, and we gotta _go_.”

“Balthazar?”

“Dammit, boy, your ears full of wax? I called Mr. Sleaze up out of whatever brothel he was catting around in and told him what’s what. Amazingly, I think he actually cares enough about Cas to try to help us.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“I…might have told him we’d try to haul Cas’ ass outta the fire if we could.”

“Great. Bobby—”

“Dean, just get your shit together and get down here, okay? We ain’t got the time.”

“Is Sam awake? Bobby, I can’t leave—”

“He’s still out. Jensen will watch over him. Dean, we don’t do this, and Sam won’t have a world to wake up to, you feel me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Bobby, I know. Okay.”

Jensen was awake when Dean glanced over at him.

“You’re gonna leave.”

“Yeah, kid. I’m sorry. We gotta go fucking fix this shit. Cas is gonna do somethin’ really, really stupid and we gotta try to stop him.” Dean stood and began sorting through their discarded clothing, looking for his own. He tossed Jensen his, but he just laid there looking up at Dean.

“Dean, I’m scared. What if Sam doesn’t wake up. What if…what if it doesn’t work? What’s gonna happen if you can’t stop Cas and he opens Purgatory? There’ll be monsters. What do I do?”

Dean knelt down and put his hands on Jensen’s shoulders. The diamonds were turning to liquid.

“Listen. It will work. But if anything happens here, you get the shotgun and stay with Sam. The panic room is the safest place to be. If you can’t get to it, you fucking hide, okay? Go out in the junkyard. There’s lots of places. You get the gun, get a weapon, anything, and then you hide and don’t do anything else unless there’s no choice. If you have to use it, make sure you kill whatever you’re aiming at. Headshots are always good. Bobby told me you’re a great shot, so you got nothing to worry about.” Dean leaned down and kissed Jensen firmly. “C’mon, kid, Bobby’s down there with Sam. I’m not gonna leave him alone, so you gotta come with me.”

“When he wakes up he’ll want you there. If I don’t go, will you stay?”

Dean grinned at him, wishing that was an option. “No. I’ll just toss you over my shoulder and carry you down there naked.”

Jensen made a face at him, crinkling his nose, draining the last of his tears from the corners of his eyes, but he accepted Dean’s hand up and pulled his shirt on.

Dean sent Jensen down to the panic room ahead of him, taking a moment to find and load Bobby’s coach gun for Jensen, grabbing up a box of salt cartridges and one with silver buckshot. He put them in a small duffel bag and carried his load downstairs. Anything else he needed was already in the car. Or downstairs, comatose.

Jensen was sitting by Sam’s cot when Dean finally rattled down the stairs and back to the protected room, and it was very hard for Dean not to rush over himself and…do nothing. He couldn’t fight this, he sucked at waiting patiently, and his agitation only upset Jensen. He caught Bobby’s eye and nodded him over.

“For Jensen,” he said when Bobby raised an eyebrow at the little arsenal. “Where are we going, now?”

Dean jotted down the address. Of _course_ it would be somewhere in Kansas. Everything bad and good came out of Kansas in equal measure. _It’s the asshole of the world, Captain_.

“Hey, Bobby’s gonna hook you up with some holy water. Don’t forget to ask for the key.” Dean spoke quietly when he finally pulled his nerves together enough to go near his brother. Jensen kissed Sam’s fingers and laid his hand back on his stomach, bit his lip and sniffed hard before joining Bobby, who was adding plastic flasks to Jensen’s bag.

Sam had moved since the last time Dean had been here. Whether that meant he’d had another seizure or not, he didn’t really want to know.

“Sam,” he said, squatting next to his brother, “Sammy, please.”

He left the paper with the address where they were headed under Sam’s handgun next to the bed. Jensen couldn’t look at him by the time he and Bobby were ready to leave, and Dean thought he understood. Jensen needed them to go _now_ , before he started begging them to stay.

The sun mocked Dean and Bobby the entire way, shining cheerily, unconcerned that the next day it shone on Earth might be Doomsday. The moon wasn’t so callous. It was something pitiful in the sky when they broke borders with Kansas, yellowish and bloated, rising reluctantly in the corner of Dean’s eye, like light caught in an unshed tear. He and Bobby talked sparingly and only about their mission. What might stop Castiel.

“A good, firm talkin’ to is out of the question, I guess. Did you bring an angel blade?”

“’Course I did,” Dean replied, gut drying up and withering. “You tried summoning Crowley?”

“Yup. Cas must be protecting him. Got Sam’s knife in my belt.”

Sam’s knife. _Ruby’s_ knife. Dean shuddered. He couldn’t help it.

The hunters stopped asking each other questions. In their silence was an understanding. There was two of them and two of _them_. If one could distract, the other could kill. _Would_  kill. Had to. Whatever it took.

Bobby had tried to bring up Sam but Dean shut him down.

“You know, Dean, we might need Cas. If Sam doesn’t—”

“No. Uh-uh. He’s not going anywhere _near_  my brother. Can’t trust him. I’ll fix Sam. Soon as this is done.”

Bobby gave him a long look, keen eyes narrowed under the frayed bill of his cap. Dean carefully kept his own gaze on the road. That was before they crossed into Nebraska and Jensen called.

“What’s up, kid?” Dean answered, trying to sound way more calm than he felt.

“ _Sam_ is,” Jensen said, voice shaking, and Dean’s calm whipped out the window with the smell of Bobby’s coffee.

“He is? When?” Dean sputtered, braking unconsciously. A horn blared and a Honda shot by him on the right.

“Dean, _drive_ ,” Bobby barked.

“It’s Jensen. Sam’s awake. He—”

“Dean, he left!” Jensen cried.

“What? What happened?”

“He had another seizure after you left, and then he just sat up. He thought I was you at first, and I-I-I don’t know, Dean. I don’t think he believed me that I wasn’t, or, or, _something_. He said ‘yeah, okay, of course you’re not’ and he took the address you wrote down and Bobby’s car and left.”

“Hey, Jens, it’s okay. He’s just coming to help us. Gotta be on autopilot or something. He’ll be okay. Are you okay?”

“ _No_.”

“Stupid question. Just hold tight, huh? We’re gonna—” Dean glanced over at Bobby, who pointed down the road. “We’re gonna just get where we’re going, and hopefully he’ll catch up to us. If he calls you or—”

“He didn’t take his phone. Or his wallet. Just the gun and the address. _Dean_ —”

“I’ll call you as soon as this is over, kid. I promise. Just stay in the panic room.”

Jensen made a terrified noise that was as close to ‘yes’ as Dean was going to get. He promised one more time he’d call Jensen when he could and then had to hang up, Jensen having gone mute on the other end. He wanted to slam on his brakes and just wait for Sam to catch up, and then stand in the middle of the road, make Sam stop. Jerk him out of the car and hold on to him and never let go.

“We’re not gonna let Cas know he’s awake,” Bobby said.

Dean nodded, insides of his lips bitten hard to keep from laughing. Crying. Yelling. His heart was trying to hammer its way up his throat.

“Whatever little bit of leverage we got, right?”

Another nod. His eyes felt like there were blowtorches pointed at them. Dean finally let himself admit he had thought Sam wasn’t going to wake up. That Cas had destroyed his mind letting free Sam’s flayed soul.

Sam was awake. He was behind them somewhere, on his way to help.

Bobby was saying something and Dean kept nodding, paced the car at a steady speed— _C’mon, Sammy_ —and checked the rearview mirror more than he looked out the windshield until it was too dark to be able to tell who was behind him.

The night was wet and oppressive, crackling with unspent energy when they pulled up behind the building the address had led them to. The moon was hidden, almost shamefacedly, behind a heavy, low cloud. That cloud almost killed them. Dean remembered racing back to the car as bits of it, demonic tentacles of sulfured smoke, reached for them, grasping. They must have made it into the Impala, because the next thing Dean knew, he was hurting and upside down inside of it. Bobby was unconscious next to him, and the moon was disappearing in the now cloudless sky.

_Where’s Sam?_

It was easy to get into the building now. Before, it had been crawling with angels. The demons had killed many and the rest had fled. Or something; it was hard to tell what meatsuit used to house a good guy or a bad guy. And really, Dean thought, stepping over bodies, how could you tell the difference anymore? Whatever the case was, the demons were gone, too. Most of them, at least. Crowley was in the basement. And so was Raphael. Dean assumed it the archangel from the smug look that had transferred from one vessel to the next. Whoever it was, Dean tried to kill it. _Should_ have killed it, his aim with the knife was perfect. But freakin’ angels, man. Raphael deflected the blade, and once more, the next thing Dean knew—

Castiel.

Dean scrambled to his feet, broken ribs ignored for the moment. At the sight of the angel, rage tore through him. The killing kind that boiled his blood and made his hands buzz with the need to be striking, maiming. But it was smeared over something slippery and got away from him. Cas looked radiant. Beautiful. And the light that gathered around him gave Dean an excuse for the tears, a reason to cover his eyes, to look away from the angel he had loved so much. Had trusted. Missed like a piece of himself, stolen.

Crowley took one long look at Castiel once the light of millions of souls dimmed, and disappeared, their pact long since broken, but Cas merely nodded to himself vaguely and turned to his brother. And even when he destroyed Raphael with a snap of his fingers, dissolving the archangel in a gruesome spray of meat and bone and blood, he looked calm, peaceful. Serene.

“Please.” Dean found himself saying it this time. Castiel had pleaded with him once before. Before he’d hurt Sam. “I’ve lost Lisa, I’ve lost Ben, and now I’ve lost Sam.”

Sam.

Sam was behind Castiel. He’d made it. He looked, literally, like Hell, but he was ten feet away from Dean, an angel blade in his hand and his glassy eyes wide and frightened, and for just one moment, Dean thought _maybe_ he had a chance. If he just said the right thing.

“Don’t make me lose you, too.”

But Cas wouldn’t be dissuaded from his vengeance. He wanted to punish Raphael’s followers, set Heaven in order again, and he wanted to rule over it.

Dean almost said _No_ when Sam raised the knife. His mouth formed the word, but it died in his throat. Sam was too quick. The knife slammed to the hilt into Castiel, and they all flinched back from the expected flare of a dying angel.

There was nothing. Sam made a confused noise and stumbled away, out of Castiel’s reach as the angel turned to him, drawing the knife from his body as if it were nothing. And it was nothing, to a God.

“I’m not an angel anymore. I’m your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you.”

There was a time Dean would have gladly professed his love to Cas. He _had_ , hadn’t he? He couldn’t really remember. He hoped he had. He hoped somewhere inside Cas’ head, in his heart, he knew that Dean loved him for what he had been. What he truly was. A friend. A brother. Family. Dean knew he wasn’t wrong about that. Castiel had saved him so many times. Saved them all.

Now Sam was barely holding himself upright, Bobby was bleeding, and Dean’s heart was broken somewhere inside his fractured rib cage, and it was all Cas’ fault. And Dean still loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so ten months later and I'm /done/. But there's more to come! This was just getting too big, so I decided to end it the way S6 did. Here's a little glimpse of things to come:
> 
>  **Behind Closed Doors**  
>  “I said, Jody’s gonna get it done. I told her to go in with muscle. By the way, the Levi-pancake unpancaked hisself and exited stage right sometime last night. And your brother’s awake.”
> 
> Dean twisted in the seat and up on one knee, leaning over the backrest. Sam was blinking slowly with one eye, the other swollen shut by the huge discoloured lump of a bruise disfiguring his face from eyebrow to hairline. Bobby said it was a good thing the bruise was so big and nasty on the outside, otherwise it would be pushing even more on his brain than it already was. 
> 
> “H-hey, Sammy. You in there?”
> 
> “Where..?”
> 
> “Bobby’s. We’re gonna go back to your house. You up for the ride?”
> 
> “Dean,” Bobby started.
> 
> “We’re going home,” Dean said firmly, reaching out to push hair away from his brother’s lips.
> 
> “Home? Bobby?”
> 
> “Yeah, man, Bobby’s fine. He’s right here. Hey,” he said, cutting off the name Sam was having trouble getting his mouth around. “Hey, we’re gonna go home, and you’re gonna be fine. You just rest. Sleep, okay? I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
> 
> “Jen?” Sam said, rolling his one good eye around the car stubbornly. 
> 
> “Baby boy, we’ll all be at the house soon, okay? Bobby, where’s the-”
> 
> “Here,” came the gruff reply and Dean fumbled the dropper of morphine out of his hand. 
> 
> “Gonna make it hurt a little less, Sammy. Don’t even have to swallow,” Dean said, pushing the dropper through his brother’s clenched teeth. Sam relaxed almost immediately back into the coma-like sleep that was probably as good for him as it was scary to witness.

**Author's Note:**

> This was made possible by contributions from readers like you. Without your kudos and feedback, it simply wouldn't exist. I had no intention of writing more in this verse!  
> Dedicated to:  
> [grrlplay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grrlplay/pseuds/grrlplay), beta-reader-extraordinaire and hand-holder, her criticism was precious, painful, perfect.  
> [soullessbrothers ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/pseuds/soullessbrothers) for unintentionally starting the whole thing, and for being the second person to tell me the original draft ~~was crap~~ could be better.  
> [Addie_D_123](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Addie_D_123/pseuds/Addie_D_123) for pulling me up out of the morass when I was utterly *done* and giving me encouragement and getting me excited about this again.  
>  Extra special shout out to the ravishing, super fun [saorinasasha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/saorinasasha/pseuds/saorinasasha) for helping me clean this story up.  
> To any new readers, hello, welcome, enjoy, and comments are /never/ too late <3


End file.
